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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Yes I don't think there's much doubt about that. Well, that clears up a lot, doesn't it?" Spargo yawned. "Yes, a whole slate full is wiped off there," he said. "I haven't so much interest in Marbury, or Maitland now. My interest is all in Aylmore." Rathbury nodded. "Yes," he said. "The thing to find out is who is Aylmore, or who was he, twenty years ago?"
The detective brought the old leather case out of the cupboard in which he had been searching, and placed it on his desk. Spargo threw back the lid and looked inside, measuring the inner capacity against the exterior lines. "No false bottom in that, Rathbury," he said. "There's just the outer leather case, and the inner lining, of this old bed-hanging stuff, and that's all.
"They went straight up to 20, and I just caught a mere glimpse of the gentleman as they turned up the stairs. A tall, well-built gentleman, with a grey beard, very well dressed as far as I could see, with a top hat and a white silk muffler round his throat, and carrying an umbrella." "And they went to Marbury's room?" said Rathbury. "What then?" "Well, then, Mr.
"And how's that to be done?" asked Spargo. "At present," replied Rathbury, "I don't know." And with a careless nod, he walked off, apparently desirous of being alone. The barrister and the journalist, left thus unceremoniously on a crowded pavement, looked at each other. Breton laughed. "We don't seem to have gained much information," he remarked. "I'm about as wise as ever."
An overcoat hung from a peg: Rathbury, without ceremony, went through its pockets; just as unceremoniously he proceeded to examine trunk and bag, and finding both unlocked, he laid out on the bed every article they contained and examined each separately and carefully. And he found nothing whereby he could gather any clue to the dead owner's identity.
Maitland probably tries to blackmail Aylmore or threatens to let folk know that the flourishing Mr. Aylmore, M.P., is an ex-convict. Result Aylmore lures him to the Temple and quiets him. Pooh! the whole thing's clear as noontide, as I say. As noontide!" Spargo drummed his fingers again. "How?" he asked quietly. "How came Aylmore to be identified?" "My work," said Rathbury proudly.
"The doctor says he must have been struck down from behind and a fearful blow, too. I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Breton." "Oh, all right!" said Breton. "Well, you know where to find me if you want me. I shall be curious about this. Good-bye good-bye, Mr. Spargo." The young barrister hurried away, and Rathbury turned to the journalist. "I didn't expect anything from that," he remarked.
He went outside there I saw him looked about him and walked off towards Blackfriars way. During the afternoon the cap you spoke of came for him from Fiskie's. So, of course, I judged he'd been Piccadilly way. But he himself never came in until ten o'clock. And then he brought a gentleman with him." "Aye?" said Rathbury. "A gentleman, now? Did you see him?" "Just," replied the landlady.
Rathbury leaned back in his chair in his apparently favourite attitude and stared hard at the dusty ceiling above him. "Don't know," he said. "It brings things up to a point, certainly. Aylmore and Marbury parted at Waterloo Bridge very late. Waterloo Bridge is pretty well next door to the Temple. But how did Marbury get into the Temple, unobserved?
Spargo fingered the shining bit of stone. "That's a diamond right enough," he said. "Put it away, Mrs. Walters I shall see Rathbury presently, and I'll tell him about it. Now, that other gentleman! You told us you saw him. Could you recognize him I mean, a photograph of him? Is this the man?" Spargo knew from the expression of Mrs. Walters' face that she had no more doubt than Webster had.
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