a
stroll, and who gave the inspector a sidelong nod as he approached his
desk, at the same time extending his hand towards the scrap of paper
which Spargo had just laid 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 daresay he'll be there
now."

"I'm going there, too," remarked Spargo, but as if speaking to himself.
"Yes, I'll go there."

The newcomer glanced at Spargo, and then at the inspector. The
inspector nodded at Spargo.

"Journalist," he said, "Mr. Spargo of the _Watchman_. Mr. Spargo was
there when the body was found. And he knows Mr. Breton." Then he nodded
from Spargo to the stolid-faced person. "This is Detective-Sergeant
Rathbury, from the Yard," he said to Spargo. "He's come to take charge
of this case."

"Oh?" said Spargo blankly. "I see--what," he went on, with sudden
abruptness, "what shall you do about Breton?"

"Get him to come and look at the body," replied 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 remained in a species of brown study all the way along Tudor
Street; his companion also maintained silence in a fashion which showed
that he was by nature and custom a man of few words. It was not until
the two were climbing the old balustrated staircase of the house in
King's Bench Walk in which Ronald Breton's chambers were somewhere
situate that Spargo spoke.

"Do you think that old chap was killed for what he may have had on
him?" he asked, suddenly turning on the detective.

"I should like to know what he had on him before I answered that
question, Mr. Spargo," replied Rathbury, with a smile.

"Yes," said Spargo, dreamily. "I suppose so. He might have had--nothing
on him, eh?"

The detective laughed, and pointed to a board 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 conclude that it isn't long since he
was eating his dinner."

"Oh, he's young--he's quite young," said Spargo. "I should say he's
about four-and-twenty. I've met him only--"

At that moment the unmistakable sounds of girlish laughter came down
the staircase. Two girls seemed to be laughing--presently masculine
laughter mingled with the lighter feminine.

"Seems to be studying law in very pleasant fashion up here, anyway,"
said Rath