ARRESTED
Spargo out to the hall, took the two from the of the "Dragon," and, open the envelopes, read the hastily. He to Mr. Quarterpage.
"Here's news," he said as he closed the library door and his seat. "I'll read these to you, sir, and then we can discuss them in the light of what we've been talking about this morning. The is from our office. I told you we sent over to Australia for a full report about Marbury at the place he said he from—Coolumbidgee. That report's just the Watchman, and they've it on to me. It's from the of police at Coolumbidgee to the of the Watchman, London:—
"John Marbury came to Coolumbidgee in the winter of 1898-9. He was unaccompanied. He appeared to be in of means and a in a small sheep-farm from its proprietor, Andrew Robertson, who is still here, and who says that Marbury told him anything about himself that he had for health and was a widower. He mentioned that he had had a son who was dead, and was now without relations. He a very quiet, life on the sheep-farm, it for many years. About six months ago, however, he paid a visit to Melbourne, and on returning told Robertson that he had to return to England in of some news he had received, and must therefore sell his in the farm. Robertson it from him for three thousand pounds, and Marbury left for Melbourne. From what we gather, Robertson thinks Marbury was in of five or six thousand when he left Coolumbidgee. He told Robertson that he had met a man in Melbourne who had him news that him, but did not say what news. He had in his when he left Robertson the he with him when he came—a and a small, square leather box. There are no of his left at Coolumbidgee."
"That's all," said Spargo, the of the on the table. "And it to me to a good deal. But now here's more news. This is from Rathbury, the Scotland Yard that I told you of, Mr. Quarterpage—he promised, you know, to keep me posted in what on in my absence. Here's what he says:
"Fresh to Aylmore has come to hand. Authorities have to him on suspicion. You'd if you want material for to-morrow's paper."
Spargo that down, too, waited while the old at of them with curiosity, and then jumped up.
"Well, I shall have to go, Mr. Quarterpage," he said. "I looked the out this so as to be in readiness. I can catch the 1.20 to Paddington—that'll me in half-past four. I've an hour yet. Now, there's another man I want to see in Market Milcaster. That's the photographer—or a photographer. You I told you of the photograph with the ticket? Well, I'm calculating that that photograph was taken here, and I want to see the man who took it—if he's alive and I can him."
Mr. Quarterpage rose and put on his hat.
"There's only one in this town, sir," he said, "and he's been here for a good many years—Cooper. I'll take you to him—it's only a doors away."
Spargo no time in the know what he wanted.
He put a direct question to Mr. Cooper—an man.
"Do you taking a photograph of the child of John Maitland, the bank manager, some twenty or twenty-one years ago?" he asked, after Mr. Quarterpage had him as a from London who wanted to ask a questions.
"Quite well, sir," Mr. Cooper. "As well as if it had been yesterday."
"Do you still to have a copy of it?" asked Spargo.
But Mr. Cooper had already to a of file albums. He took one 1891, and to search its pages. In a minute or two he it on his table his callers.
"There you are, sir," he said. "That's the child!"
Spargo gave one at the photograph and to Mr. Quarterpage. "Just as I thought," he said. "That's the same photograph we in the leather box with the ticket. I'm to you, Mr. Cooper. Now, there's just one more question I want to ask. Did you supply any copies of this photograph to after the Maitland affair?—that is; after the family had left the town?"
"Yes," the photographer. "I a dozen copies to Miss Baylis, the child's aunt, who, as a of fact, him here to be photographed. And I can give you her address, too," he continued, to turn over another old file. "I have it somewhere."
Mr. Quarterpage Spargo.
"That's something I couldn't have done!" he remarked. "As I told you, she'd from Brighton when were after Maitland's release."
"Here you are," said Mr. Cooper. "I sent six copies of that photograph to Miss Baylis in April, 1895. Her address was then 6, Chichester Square, Bayswater, W."
Spargo this address down, thanked the for his courtesy, and out with Mr. Quarterpage. In the he to the old with a smile.
"Well, I don't think there's much about that!" he exclaimed. "Maitland and Marbury are the same man, Mr. Quarterpage. I'm as of that as that I see your Town Hall there."
"And what will you do next, sir?" Mr. Quarterpage.
"Thank you—as I do—for all your and assistance, and off to town by this 1.20," Spargo. "And I shan't fail to let you know how go on."
"One moment," said the old gentleman, as Spargo was away, "do you think this Mr. Aylmore Maitland?"
"No!" answered Spargo with emphasis. "I don't! And I think we've got a good to do we out who did."
Spargo let the Marbury case out of his mind his to town. He ate a in the train and talked with his neighbours; it was a to let his mind and attention turn to something else than the which had it for so many days. But at Reading the newspaper boys were the news of the of a Member of Parliament, and Spargo, out of the window, of a newspaper placard:
THE MARBURY MURDER CASE ARREST OF MR. AYLMORE
He a paper from a boy as the train moved out and, it, a in the space for stop-press news:
"Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., was at two o'clock this afternoon, on his way to the House of Commons, on a of being in the of John Marbury in Middle Temple Lane on the night of June 21st last. It is he will be up at Bow Street at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."
Spargo to New Scotland Yard as soon as he Paddington. He met Rathbury away from his room. At of him, the back.
"Well, so there you are!" he said. "I you've the news?"
Spargo as he into a chair.
"What to it?" he asked abruptly. "There must have been something."
"There was something," he replied. "The thing—stick, bludgeon, you like to call it, some article—with which Marbury was was last night."
"Well?" asked Spargo.
"It was proved to be Aylmore's property," answered Rathbury. "It was a
South American that he had in his rooms in Fountain Court."
"Where was it found?" asked Spargo.
Rathbury laughed.
"He was a who did it, he was Aylmore or he was!" he replied. "Do you know, it had been into a sewer-trap in Middle Temple Lane—actually! Perhaps the it would be out into the Thames and away. But, of course, it was to come to light. A man it yesterday evening, and it was by the woman who up for Aylmore as having been in his rooms since she them."
"What Aylmore say about it?" asked Spargo. "I he's said something?"
"Says that the is his, and that he it from South America with him," Rathbury; "but that he doesn't it in his rooms for some time, and thinks that it was from them."
"Um!" said Spargo, musingly. "But—how do you know that was the thing that Marbury was with?"
Rathbury grimly.
"There's some of his on it—mixed with blood," he answered. "No about that. Well—anything come of your westward?"
"Yes," Spargo. "Lots!"
"Good?" asked Rathbury.
"Extra good. I've out who Marbury was."
"No! Really?"
"No doubt, to my mind. I'm of it."
Rathbury sat at his desk, Spargo with attention.
"And who was he?" he asked.
"John Maitland, once of Market Milcaster," Spargo. "Ex-bank manager. Also ex-convict."
"Ex-convict!"
"Ex-convict. He was sentenced, at Market Milcaster Quarter Sessions, in autumn, 1891, to ten years' penal servitude, for the bank's money, to the of over two hundred thousand pounds. Served his term at Dartmoor. Went to Australia as soon, or soon after, he came out. That's who Marbury was—Maitland. Dead—certain!"
Rathbury still at his caller.
"Go on!" he said. "Tell all about it, Spargo. Let's every detail.
I'll tell you all I know after. But what I know's nothing to that."
Spargo told him the whole of his at Market Milcaster, and the with attention.
"Yes," he said at the end. "Yes—I don't think there's much about that. Well, that up a lot, doesn't it?"
Spargo yawned.
"Yes, a whole full is off there," he said. "I haven't so much in Marbury, or Maitland now. My is all in Aylmore."
Rathbury nodded.
"Yes," he said. "The thing to out is—who is Aylmore, or who was he, twenty years ago?"
"Your people haven't anything out, then?" asked Spargo.
"Nothing the history of Mr. Aylmore since he returned to this country, a very rich man, some ten years since," answered Rathbury, smiling. "They've no previous to go on. What are you going to do next, Spargo?"
"Seek out that Miss Baylis," Spargo.
"You think you something there?" asked Rathbury.
"Look here!" said Spargo. "I don't for a second Aylmore killed Marbury. I I shall at the truth by 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."
He on then to the Watchman office, and as he got out of his taxi-cab at its door, another came up and set Mr. Aylmore's daughters.
