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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Never was such a memory as yours, never!" "Especially for anything relating to the old racing matters," said the fat man. "Mr. Quarterpage is a walking encyclopaedia." "My memory is good," said Mr. Quarterpage. "It's the greatest blessing I have in my declining years. Yes, I am sure I could do that, with a little thought.
Quarterpage looked an enquiry over the top of a decanter which he was handling. "At daybreak?" he exclaimed. "The fact is," said Spargo, "that grave of Chamberlayne's is going to be opened at daybreak.
In the street he turned to the old gentleman with a smile. "Well, I don't think there's much doubt about that!" he exclaimed. "Maitland and Marbury are the same man, Mr. Quarterpage. I'm as certain of that as that I see your Town Hall there." "And what will you do next, sir?" enquired Mr. Quarterpage.
He was a shrewd, keen young fellow; he got some suspicion, somehow, about Maitland, and he insisted on the other partners consenting to a special investigation, and on their making it suddenly. And Maitland was caught before he had a chance. But we're talking about Chamberlayne." "Yes, about Chamberlayne," agreed Spargo. "Well, now, Maitland was arrested one evening," continued Mr. Quarterpage.
I never remember that he had visitors; certainly I've no recollection of such a friend of his as this Aylmore, from your description of him, would be at that time." "Did Maitland go up to London much in those days?" asked Spargo. Mr. Quarterpage laughed.
Another, making five, came in and joined them the five had the end of the bar-parlour to themselves. Mr. Quarterpage made the punch with all due solemnity and ceremony; when it was ladled out each man lighted his pipe or took a cigar, and the tongues began to wag. Other folk came and went; the old gentlemen were oblivious of anything but their own talk.
And by this time, knowing that this was the venerable Mr. Benjamin Quarterpage, of whom Crowfoot had told him, he took good stock of the newcomer as he took his place amongst his friends, who on their part received him with ebullitions of delight which were positively boyish. Mr.
"We shall all know whether he was buried in that grave before another six hours are over, Mr. Quarterpage," he said.
Spargo hurried out to the hall, took the two telegrams from the boots of the "Dragon," and, tearing open the envelopes, read the messages hastily. He went back to Mr. Quarterpage. "Here's important news," he said as he closed the library door and resumed his seat. "I'll read these telegrams to you, sir, and then we can discuss them in the light of what we've been talking about this morning.
Cooper had already turned to a row of file albums. He took down one labelled 1891, and began to search its pages. In a minute or two he laid it on his table before his callers. "There you are, sir," he said. "That's the child!" Spargo gave one glance at the photograph and turned to Mr. Quarterpage. "Just as I thought," he said.
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