HIS FIRST BRIEF
Spargo looked up at the with a quick of his head. "I know this man," he said.
The new interest.
"What, Mr. Breton?" he asked.
"Yes. I'm on the Watchman, you know, sub-editor. I took an article from him the other day—article on 'Ideal Sites for Campers-Out.' He came to the office about it. So this was in the man's pocket?"
"Found in a in his pocket, I understand: I wasn't present myself.
It's not much, but it may some to identity."
Spargo up the of paper and looked closely at it. It to him to be the of paper that is in and in clubs; it had been from the sheet.
"What," he asked meditatively, "what will you do about this man identified?"
The his shoulders.
"Oh, thing, I suppose. There'll be publicity, you know. I you'll be doing a special account yourself, for your paper, eh? Then there'll be the others. And we shall put out the notice. Somebody will come to identify—sure to. And—"
A man came into the office—a stolid-faced, quiet-mannered, person, who might have been a out for a stroll, and who gave the a as he approached his desk, at the same time his hand the of paper which Spargo had just down.
"I'll go along to King's Bench Walk and see Mr. Breton," he observed, looking at his watch. "It's just about ten—I he'll be there now."
"I'm going there, too," Spargo, but as if speaking to himself.
"Yes, I'll go there."
The at Spargo, and then at the inspector. The at Spargo.
"Journalist," he said, "Mr. Spargo of the Watchman. Mr. Spargo was there when the was found. And he Mr. Breton." Then he from Spargo to the stolid-faced person. "This is Detective-Sergeant Rathbury, from the Yard," he said to Spargo. "He's come to take of this case."
"Oh?" said Spargo blankly. "I see—what," he on, with abruptness, "what shall you do about Breton?"
"Get him to come and look at the body," Rathbury. "He may know the man and he mayn't. Anyway, his name and address are here, aren't they?"
"Come along," said Spargo. "I'll walk there with you."
Spargo in a of study all the way along Tudor Street; his also in a fashion which that he was by nature and a man of words. It was not until the two were the old of the house in King's Bench Walk in which Ronald Breton's were that Spargo spoke.
"Do you think that old was killed for what he may have had on him?" he asked, on the detective.
"I should like to know what he had on him I answered that question, Mr. Spargo," Rathbury, with a smile.
"Yes," said Spargo, dreamily. "I so. He might have had—nothing on him, eh?"
The laughed, and pointed to a on which names were printed.
"We don't know anything yet, sir," he observed, "except that Mr. Breton is on the fourth floor. By which I that it isn't long since he was his dinner."
"Oh, he's young—he's young," said Spargo. "I should say he's about four-and-twenty. I've met him only—"
At that moment the of came the staircase. Two girls to be laughing—presently with the feminine.
"Seems to be studying law in very fashion up here, anyway," said Rathbury. "Mr. Breton's chambers, too. And the door's open."
The door of Ronald Breton's wide; the one was well ajar; through the opening thus Spargo and the a full view of the of Mr. Ronald Breton's rooms. There, against a of law books, of papers up with pink tape, and black-framed pictures of famous legal notabilities, they saw a pretty, vivacious-eyed girl, who, on a chair, and gowned, and a of paper, was an judge and jury, to the of a man who had his to the door, and of another girl who against his shoulder.
"I put it to you, of the jury—I put it to you with confidence, that you must be, must necessarily be, some, brothers, husbands, and fathers, can you, on your do my client the great wrong, the injury, the—the—"
"Think of some more adjectives!" the man. "Hot and 'uns—pile 'em up. That's what they like—they—Hullo!"
This from the that at this point of the the at the door, and then put his its edge. Whereupon the lady who was from the chair, jumped down; the other lady from the man's protecting arm; there was a and a of skirts, and a into an room, and Mr. Ronald Breton came forward, a little, to the interrupter.
"Come in, come in!" he hastily. "I—"
Then he paused, of Spargo, and out his hand with a look of surprise.
"Oh—Mr. Spargo?" he said. "How do you do?—we—I—we were just having a lark—I'm off to in a minutes. What can I do for you, Mr. Spargo?"
He had to the door as he spoke, and he now closed it and again to the two men, looking from one to the other. The detective, on his part, was looking at the barrister. He saw a tall, slimly-built youth, of and presence, perfectly groomed, and garbed, and having upon him a air of well-to-do-ness, and he the from these that Mr. Breton was one of those men who may take up a but are not upon it. He and at the journalist.
"How do you do?" said Spargo slowly. "I—the is, I came here with
Mr. Rathbury. He—wants to see you. Detective-Sergeant Rathbury—of New
Scotland Yard."
Spargo this as if he were a lesson. But he was the barrister's face. And Breton to the with a look of surprise.
"Oh!" he said. "You wish—"
Rathbury had been in his pocket for the of paper, which he had in a much-worn memorandum-book. "I to ask a question, Mr. Breton," he said. "This morning, about a to three, a man—elderly man—was in Middle Temple Lane, and there little that he was murdered. Mr. Spargo here—he was present when the was found."
"Soon after," Spargo. "A minutes after."
"When this was at the mortuary," Rathbury, in his matter-of-fact, business-like tones, "nothing was that lead to identification. The man to have been robbed. There was nothing on him—but this of paper, which was in a in the of his pocket. It's got your name and address on it, Mr. Breton. See?"
Ronald Breton took the of paper and looked at it with brows.
"By Jove!" he muttered. "So it has; that's queer. What's he like, this man?"
Rathbury at a clock which on the mantelpiece.
"Will you step and take a look at him, Mr. Breton?" he said.
"It's close by."
"Well—I—the is, I've got a case on, in Mr. Justice Borrow's court," Breton answered, also at his clock. "But it won't be called until after eleven. Will—"
"Plenty of time, sir," said Rathbury; "it won't take you ten minutes to go and again—a look will do. You don't this handwriting, I suppose?"
Breton still the of paper in his fingers. He looked at it again, intently.
"No!" he answered. "I don't. I don't know it at all—I can't think, of course, who this man be, to have my name and address. I he might have been some country solicitor, wanting my professional services, you know," he on, with a at Spargo; "but, three—three o'clock in the morning, eh?"
"The doctor," Rathbury, "the doctor thinks he had been about two and a hours."
Breton to the door.
"I'll—I'll just tell these ladies I'm going out for a of an hour," he said. "They're going over to the with me—I got my yesterday," he on with a laugh, right and left at his visitors. "It's nothing much—small case—but I promised my fiancée and her sister that they should be present, you know. A moment."
He into the next room and came a moment later in all the of a new hat. Spargo, a man who was very particular about his dress, to his own with the of this youngster; he had been quick to notice that the two girls who had into the room had been in raiment, more of Mayfair than of Fleet Street. Already he a about Breton, and about the ladies he talking the door.
"Well, come on," said Breton. "Let's go there."
The to which Rathbury the way was cold, drab, to the of the morning. Spargo as he entered it and took a around. But the no of or concern; he looked about him and to the of the man, from the was a cloth. He looked and at the features. Then he back, his head.
"No!" he said with decision. "Don't know him—don't know him from Adam.
Never set on him in my life, that I know of."
Rathbury replaced the cloth.
"I didn't you would," he remarked. "Well, I we must go on the lines. Somebody'll identify him."
"You say he was murdered?" said Breton. "Is that—certain?"
Rathbury his thumb at the corpse.
"The of his is in," he said laconically. "The doctor says he must have been from behind—and a blow, too. I'm much to you, Mr. Breton."
"Oh, all right!" said Breton. "Well, you know where to me if you want me. I shall be about this. Good-bye—good-bye, Mr. Spargo."
The away, and Rathbury to the journalist.
"I didn't anything from that," he remarked. "However, it was a thing to be done. You are going to about this for your paper?"
Spargo nodded.
"Well," Rathbury, "I've sent a man to Fiskie's, the hatter's, where that cap came from, you know. We may a of from that quarter—it's possible. If you like to meet me here at twelve o'clock I'll tell you anything I've heard. Just now I'm going to some breakfast."
"I'll meet you here," said Spargo, "at twelve o'clock."
He Rathbury go away one corner; he himself set off another. He to the Watchman office, a lines, which he in an for the day-editor, and out again. Somehow or other, his him up Fleet Street, and he what he was doing he himself into the Law Courts.
