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Updated: June 5, 2025
Marbury was in reality one John Maitland, a bank manager, of Market Milcaster, who got ten years' penal servitude in 1891 for embezzlement." "In 1891? Why that's just about the time that Aylmore says he knew him!" "Exactly. And it just strikes me," said Spargo, sitting down at his desk and making a hurried note, "it just strikes me didn't Aylmore say he knew Marbury in London?"
It's a good deal more to do with the Maitland story than appears at first sight, I'll tell it to you and you can form your own conclusions. Chamberlayne was a man who came to Market Milcaster I don't know from where in 1886 five years before the Maitland smash-up. He was then about Maitland's age a man of thirty-seven or eight. He came as clerk to old Mr.
Because, young gentleman, it is the greatest surprise to me, and to these friends of mine, too, every man jack of 'em, to hear that any one of our fifty tickets ever passed out of the possession of any of the fifty families to whom they belonged! And unless I am vastly, greatly, most unexplainably mistaken, young sir, you are not a member of any Market Milcaster family."
"We'll go and see about your little reward. Excuse me, Breton." Breton kicked his heels in solitude for half an hour. Then Spargo came back. "There that's one matter settled, Breton," he said. "Now for the next. The Home Secretary's made the order for the opening of the grave at Market Milcaster. I'm going down there at once, and I suppose you're coming. And remember, if that grave's empty "
Spargo began to understand what the damsel behind the bar meant when she said that she believed she could write a history of Market Milcaster since the year One. After discussing the weather, the local events of the day, and various personal matters, the old fellows got to reminiscences of the past, telling tale after tale, recalling incident upon incident of long years before.
"Then why, in the sacred name of common sense did no one ever take steps to make certain?" asked Spargo. "Why didn't they get an order for exhumation?" "Because it was nobody's particular business to do so," answered Mr. Quarterpage. "You don't know country-town life, my dear sir. In towns like Market Milcaster folks talk and gossip a great deal, but they're always slow to do anything.
He turned to another of the many drawers in an ancient bureau, and began to search amongst a mass of old newspapers, carefully sorted into small bundles and tied up. "If you had lived in Market Milcaster one-and-twenty years ago, Mr. Spargo," he said, "you would have known who John Maitland was. For some time, sir, he was the best-known man in the place aye, and in this corner of the world.
Of course, Chamberlayne would hear that news like everybody else. But it was remembered, and often remarked upon afterwards, that from the moment of Maitland's arrest nobody in Market Milcaster ever had speech with Chamberlayne again.
He proposed to offer a clear and succinct account of the matter. The prisoner, John Maitland, was the last of an old Market Milcaster family he was, in fact, he believed, with the exception of his own infant son, the very last of the race. His father had been manager of the bank before him.
"You exaggerate your own importance. I don't approve of modern journalism nor of its methods. In your own case you have got hold of some absurd notion that the man John Marbury was in reality one John Maitland, once of Market Milcaster, and you have been trying to frighten Miss Baylis here into " Spargo suddenly rose from his chair.
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