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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Ever seen that writing before?" he suggested. "Never," answered Breton. "And yet there's something very familiar about it." "Then the probability is that you have seen it before," remarked Rathbury. "Well now we'll hear a little more about Marbury's doings here. Just tell me all you know, Mr. and Mrs. Walters." "My wife knows most," said Walters.
They were middle-aged folk: the man, a fleshy, round-faced, somewhat pompous-looking individual, who might at some time have been a butler; the woman a tall, spare-figured, thin-featured, sharp-eyed person, who examined the newcomers with an enquiring gaze. Rathbury went up to them with easy confidence. "You the landlord of this house, sir?" he asked. "Mr. Walters? Just so and Mrs.
I don't know it at all I can't think, of course, who this man could be, to have my name and address. I thought he might have been some country solicitor, wanting my professional services, you know," he went on, with a shy smile at Spargo; "but, three three o'clock in the morning, eh?" "The doctor," observed Rathbury, "the doctor thinks he had been dead about two and a half hours."
Breton was one of those fortunate young men who may take up a profession but are certainly not dependent upon it. He turned and glanced at the journalist. "How do you do?" said Spargo slowly. "I the fact is, I came here with Mr. Rathbury. He wants to see you. Detective-Sergeant Rathbury of New Scotland Yard." Spargo pronounced this formal introduction as if he were repeating a lesson.
And it has got him." Rathbury accorded the journalist a look of admiration. "Good!" he said. "And who is he?" "I'll tell you the story," answered Spargo, "and in a summary.
Rathbury proved that by means of the dead man's new fashionable cloth cap, bought at Fiskie's well-known shop in the West-End, he traced Marbury to the Anglo-Orient Hotel in the Waterloo District. Mr. and Mrs. Walters gave evidence of the arrival of Marbury at the Anglo-Orient Hotel, and of his doings while he was in and about there. The purser of the ss.
"Says that the bludgeon is certainly his, and that he brought it from South America with him," announced Rathbury; "but that he doesn't remember seeing it in his rooms for some time, and thinks that it was stolen from them." "Um!" said Spargo, musingly. "But how do you know that was the thing that Marbury was struck down with?" Rathbury smiled grimly.
"You think you could get something there?" asked Rathbury. "Look here!" said Spargo. "I don't believe for a second Aylmore killed Marbury. I believe I shall get at the truth by following up what I call the Maitland trail. This Miss Baylis must know something if she's alive. Well, now I'm going to report at the office. Keep in touch with me, Rathbury."
"I scarcely saw the man I don't remember speaking with him." "No," said Mrs. Walters. "You didn't you weren't much in his way. Well," she continued, "I showed him up to his room. He talked a bit said he'd just landed at Southampton from Melbourne." "Did he mention his ship?" asked Rathbury. "But if he didn't, it doesn't matter, for we can find out."
"When this body was examined at the mortuary," continued Rathbury, in his matter-of-fact, business-like tones, "nothing was found that could lead to identification. The man appears to have been robbed. There was nothing whatever on him but this bit of torn paper, which was found in a hole in the lining of his waistcoat pocket. It's got your name and address on it, Mr. Breton. See?"
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