MR. AYLMORE
Spargo, and watchful, felt, than saw, Breton start; he himself an equanimity. He gave a at the photograph to which Mr. Webster was pointing.
"Oh!" he said. "That he?"
"That's the gentleman, sir," Webster. "Done to the life, that is. No in of that, Mr. Spargo."
"You're sure?" Spargo. "There are a of men in the House of Commons, you know, who wear beards, and many of the are grey."
But Webster his head.
"That's him, sir!" he repeated. "I'm as sure of that as I am that my name's William Webster. That's the man I saw talking to him picture you've got in your paper. Can't say no more, sir."
"Very good," said Spargo. "I'm much to you. I'll see Mr. Aylmore. Leave me your address in London, Mr. Webster. How long do you in town?"
"My address is the Beachcroft Hotel, Bloomsbury, sir, and I shall be there for another week," answered the farmer. "Hope I've been of some use, Mr. Spargo. As I says to my wife——"
Spargo cut his visitor in fashion and him out. He to Breton, who still at the of portraits.
"There!—what did I tell you?" he said. "Didn't I say I should some news? There it is."
Breton his head. He thoughtful.
"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, I say, Spargo!"
"Well?"
"Mr. Aylmore is my father-in-law, you know."
"Quite aware of it. Didn't you me to his daughters—only yesterday?"
"But—how did you know they were his daughters?"
Spargo laughed as he sat to his desk.
"Instinct—intuition," he answered. "However, mind that, just now. Well—I've something out. Marbury—if that is the man's name, and anyway, it's all we know him by—was in the company of Mr. Aylmore that night. Good!"
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Breton.
"Do? See Mr. Aylmore, of course."
He was over the of a telephone address-book; one hand had already up the of the on his desk.
"Look here," said Breton. "I know where Mr. Aylmore is always to be at twelve o'clock. At the A. and P.—the Atlantic and Pacific Club, you know, in St. James's. If you like, I'll go with you."
Spargo at the clock and the telephone.
"All right," he said. "Eleven o'clock, now. I've something to do. I'll meet you the A. and P. at noon."
"I'll be there," Breton. He for the door, and with his hand on it, turned. "What do you from—from what we've just heard?" he asked.
Spargo his shoulders.
"Wait—until we what Mr. Aylmore has to say," he answered. "I this man Marbury was some old acquaintance."
Breton closed the door and away: left alone, Spargo to to himself.
"Good God!" he says. "Dainsworth—Painsworth—something of that sort—one of the two. Excellent—that our farmer friend should have so much observation. Ah!—and why should Mr. Stephen Aylmore be as Dainsworth or Painsworth or something of that sort. Now, who is Mr. Stephen Aylmore—beyond being what I know him to be?"
Spargo's to one of a number of books of which on his desk: they with to a page over which his ran just as swiftly. He read aloud:
"AYLMORE, STEPHEN, M.P. for Brookminster since 1910. Residences: 23,
St. Osythe Court, Kensington: Buena Vista, Great Marlow. Member
Atlantic and Pacific and City Venturers' Clubs. Interested in South
American enterprise."
"Um!" Spargo, the book away. "That's not very illuminating. However, we've got one move finished. Now we'll make another."
Going over to the of photographs, Spargo that of Mr. Aylmore, put it in an and the in his pocket and, the office, a taxi-cab, and ordered its driver to take him to the Anglo-Orient Hotel. This was the something-to-do of which he had spoken to Breton: Spargo wanted to do it alone.
Mrs. Walters was in her low-windowed office when Spargo entered the hall; she him at once and him into her parlour.
"I you," said Mrs. Walters; "you came with the detective—Mr.
Rathbury."
"Have you him, since?" asked Spargo.
"Not since," Mrs. Walters. "No—and I was if he'd be round, because——" She paused there and looked at Spargo with particular enquiry—"You're a friend of his, aren't you?" she asked. "I you know as much as he does—about this?"
"He and I," Spargo, with easy confidence, "are this case together. You can tell me anything you'd tell him."
The in her pocket and produced an old purse, from an of which she out a small object in paper.
"Well," she said, the paper, "we this in Number 20 this morning—it was under the dressing-table. The girl that it it to me, and I it was a of glass, but Walters, he says as how he shouldn't be if it's a diamond. And since we it, the waiter who took the up to 20, after Mr. Marbury came in with the other gentleman, has told me that when he into the room the two were looking at a paper full of like this. So there?"
Spargo the 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 from the of Mrs. Walters' that she had no more than Webster had.
"Oh, yes!" she said. "That's the who came in with Mr. Marbury—I should have him in a thousand. Anybody would him from that—perhaps you'd let our hall-porter and the waiter I mentioned just now look at it?"
"I'll see them and see if they've a man who this," Spargo.
The two men the photograph at once, without any prompting, and Spargo, after a word or two with the landlady, off to the Atlantic and Pacific Club, and Ronald Breton him on the steps. He no to his doings, and together they into the house and asked for Mr. Aylmore.
Spargo looked with more than at the man who presently came to them in the visitors' room. He was already familiar with Mr. Aylmore's photograph, but he him in life; the Member for Brookminster was one of that of members are to work and unobtrusively, doing service on committees, every of the party whips, without themselves into the or every opportunity to air their opinions. Now that Spargo met him in the he proved to be much what the journalist had expected—a cold-mannered, self-contained man, who looked as if he had been up in a of repression, and not to waste words. He no more than the of in Spargo when Breton him, and his was when Spargo to an end his —purposely shortened—of his object in calling upon him.
"Yes," he said indifferently. "Yes, it is true that I met Marbury and a little time with him on the your spoke of. I met him, as he told you, in the of the House. I was much to meet him. I had not him for—I don't know how many years."
He paused and looked at Spargo as if he was what he ought or not to say to a newspaper man. Spargo silent, waiting. And presently Mr. Aylmore on.
"I read your account in the Watchman this morning," he said. "I was wondering, when you called just now, if I would with you or with the police. The is—I you want this for your paper, eh?" he after a off.
"I shall not print anything that you wish me not to print," answered
Spargo. "If you to give me any information——"
"Oh, well!" said Mr. Aylmore. "I don't mind. The is, I next to nothing. Marbury was a man with I had some—well, relations, of a sort, a great many years ago. It must be twenty years—perhaps more—since I of him. When he came up to me in the the other night, I had to make an of memory to him. He me, having once met me, to give him some advice, and as there was little doing in the House that night, and as he had once been—almost a friend—I walked to his hotel with him, chatting. He told me that he had only from Australia that morning, and what he wanted my about, principally, was—diamonds. Australian diamonds."
"I was unaware," Spargo, "that diamonds were in
Australia."
Mr. Aylmore smiled—a little cynically.
"Perhaps so," he said. "But diamonds have been in Australia from time to time, since Australia was to Europeans, and in the opinion of experts, they will be there in quantity. Anyhow, Marbury had got of some Australian diamonds, and he them to me at his hotel—a number of them. We them in his room."
"What did he do with them—afterwards?" asked Spargo.
"He put them in his pocket—in a very small wash-leather bag, from which he had taken them. There were, in all, sixteen or twenty stones—not more, and they were all small. I him to see some expert—I mentioned Streeter's to him. Now, I can tell you how he got of Mr. Breton's address."
The two men up their ears. Spargo his on the pencil with which he was making notes.
"He got it from me," Mr. Aylmore. "The on the of paper is mine, scrawled. He wanted legal advice. As I very little about lawyers, I told him that if he called on Mr. Breton, Mr. Breton would be able to tell him of a first-class, solicitor. I Mr. Breton's address for him, on a of paper which he off a that he took from his pocket. By the by, I that when his was there was nothing on it in the shape of papers or money. I am sure that when I left him he had a of gold on him, those diamonds, and a breast-pocket full of letters."
"Where did you him, sir?" asked Spargo. "You left the hotel together, I believe?"
"Yes. We along when we left it. Having once met, we had much to talk of, and it was a night. We walked across Waterloo Bridge and very he left me. And that is all I know. My own impression——" He paused for a moment and Spargo waited silently.
"My own impression—though I it may to have no very solid grounds—is that Marbury was to where he was found, and was and by some person who he had on him. There is the that he was robbed, at any rate."
"I've had a notion," said Breton, diffidently. "Mayn't be much, but I've had it, all the same. Some fellow-passenger of Marbury's may have him all day—Middle Temple Lane's at night, you know."
No one any upon this suggestion, and on Spargo looking at
Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament rose and at the door.
"Well, that's all I can tell you, Mr. Spargo," he said. "You see, it's not much, after all. Of course, there'll be an on Marbury, and I shall have to re-tell it. But you're welcome to print what I've told you."
Spargo left Breton with his father-in-law and away New Scotland Yard. He and Rathbury had promised to news—now he had some to communicate.
