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Rathbury inclined his head and put his fingers together. "You may speak with every confidence, Mr. Myerst," he answered. "If what you have to tell has any real bearing on the Marbury case, it will probably have to be repeated in public, you know, sir. But at present it will be treated as private." "It has a very real bearing on the case, I should say," replied Mr. Myerst.
"Because," replied Myerst, with a cunning grin, "I helped to carry out his mock death and burial I was a solicitor in those days, and my name was something else. There were three of us at it: Chamberlayne's nephew; a doctor of no reputation; and myself. We carried it out very cleverly, and Chamberlayne gave us five thousand pounds apiece for our trouble.
Myerst, who was fully as solemn as his principal, produced a curious-looking key: the chairman lifted his hand as if he were about to christen a battleship: the steel door swung slowly back. And there, in a two-foot square cavity, lay the leather box. It struck Spargo as they filed back to the secretary's room that the procession became more funereal-like than ever.
"That the box is empty is certain," he observed. "Did you ever handle it yourself, Mr. Myerst?" Myerst smiled in a superior fashion. "I have already observed, sir, that from the time the deceased entered this room until the moment he placed the box in the safe which he rented, the box was never out of his hands," he replied. Then there was silence. At last the high official turned to the chairman.
Myerst. "He appeared to be greatly relieved when he found that it was impossible for anyone but himself to take his property from his safe." "Ah!" said Rathbury, winking at Spargo. "So he would, no doubt. And Marbury himself, sir, now? How did he strike you?" Mr. Myerst gravely considered this question. "Mr. Marbury struck me," he answered at last, "as a man who had probably seen strange places.
Another glance showed him the figure of a second business-like looking young man at his side, whose attitude showed a desire to grapple with him. "Good-morning, Mr. Myerst," said Breton with cold and ironic politeness. "We are glad to meet you so unexpectedly. And I must trouble you to put up your hands. Quick!"
"When we want you to speak we'll tell you." But Myerst laughed again. "All very high and mighty, Mr. Spargo of the Watchman!" he sneered. "You're another of the cock-sure lot. And you're very clever, but not clever enough. Now, look here! Supposing " Spargo turned his back on him. He went over to old Cardlestone and felt his hands. And he turned to Breton with a look of concern.
But when the wooden door the front door, as it were, of this temple of mystery, had been solemnly opened by the chairman, a formidable door of steel was revealed, and expectation still leapt in the bosoms of the beholders. "The duplicate key, Mr. Myerst, if you please," commanded the chairman, "the duplicate key!"
Myerst here to go with me just now to take the first steps about having it opened. I shall have to get an order. We may get the matter through today, but at any rate we'll have it done tomorrow morning." "Can you arrange for me to be present when that comes off?" asked Spargo. "You can certain? That's all right, Rathbury.
Fiskie, the hatter, and he only remembered him faintly, and because Marbury had bought a fashionable cloth cap at his shop. At any rate, by noon of that day, nobody had come forward with any recollection of him. He must have gone West from seeing Myerst, because he bought his cap at Fiskie's; he must eventually have gone South-West, because he turned up at Westminster. But where else did he go?
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