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Updated: June 8, 2025
Nothing would satisfy him but that the two should go in; his family, he said, had just retired, but he himself was going to take a final nightcap and a cigar, and they must share it. "For a few minutes only then, Mr. Quarterpage," said Spargo as they followed the old man into his dining-room. "We have to be up at daybreak. And possibly you, too, would like to be up just as early." Mr.
And I suppose, now that you know of it, you'll be there?" "God bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. "You've really done that! Well, well, so we shall know the truth at last, after all these years. You're a very wonderful young man, Mr. Spargo, upon my word. And this other young gentleman?" Spargo looked at Breton, who had already given him permission to speak. "Mr.
He served his time made a model prisoner they did find that much out! earned the maximum remission, was released, and vanished. And for that very reason there's a theory about him in this very town to this very day!" "What?" asked Spargo. "This. That he's now living comfortably, luxuriously abroad on what he got from the bank," replied Mr. Quarterpage.
Also, I want you to describe Chamberlayne as he was when he died, or was supposed to die. You remember them, of course, quite well?" Mr. Quarterpage got up and moved to the door. "I can do better than that," he said. "I can show you photographs of both men as they were just before Maitland's trial.
At last he folded up the newspaper and turned to the house to see old Quarterpage beckoning to him from the library window. "I perceive, sir," said Mr. Quarterpage, as Spargo entered the library, "that you have read the account of the Maitland trial." "Twice," replied Spargo. "And you have come to the conclusion that but what conclusion have you come to?" asked Mr. Quarterpage.
I want to know about a lot of things arising out of that newspaper report. I want to know something about the man referred to so much the stockbroker, Chamberlayne." "Just so," observed Mr. Quarterpage, smiling. "I thought that would touch your sense of the inquisitive. But Maitland first. Now, when Maitland went to prison, he left behind him a child, a boy, just then about two years old.
And Spargo took out of his pocket-book a carefully-mounted photograph of John Marbury the original of the process-picture which he had had made for the Watchman. He handed it over. "Do you recognize that photograph as that of anybody you know?" he asked. "Look at it well and closely." Mr. Quarterpage put on a special pair of spectacles and studied the photograph from several points of view.
Spargo threw that telegram down, too, waited while the old gentleman glanced at both of them with evident curiosity, and then jumped up. "Well, I shall have to go, Mr. Quarterpage," he said. "I looked the trains out this morning so as to be in readiness. I can catch the 1.20 to Paddington that'll get me in before half-past four. I've an hour yet.
The five old men all glanced at each other and made simultaneous grunts. Then Mr. Quarterpage spoke. "It is one of the original fifty burgess tickets of Market Milcaster, young sir, which gave its holder special and greatly valued privileges in respect to attendance at our once famous race-meeting, now unfortunately a thing of the past," he added.
If Old Ben Quarterpage is alive, Spargo, he'll be ninety years of age!" "Well, I've known men of ninety who were spry enough, even in my bit of experience," said Spargo. "I know one now my own grandfather. Well, the best of thanks, Crowfoot, and I'll tell you all about it some day." "Have another drink?" suggested Crowfoot. But Spargo excused himself.
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