cently when I've a good story to tell, but I don't talk
an awful lot, because I never can express what I mean unless I've got a
pen in my hand. Frankly, I find it hard to tell you what I think. When
I write my article this evening, I'll get all these things marshalled
in proper form, and I shall write clearly about 'em. But I'll tell you
one thing I do think--I wish your father had made a clean breast of
things to me at first, when he gave me that interview, or had told
everything when he first went into that box."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because he's now set up an atmosphere of doubt and suspicion around
himself. People'll think--Heaven knows what they'll think! They already
know that he knows more about Marbury than he'll tell, that--"

"But does he?" she interrupted quickly. "Do you think he does?"

"Yes!" replied Spargo, with emphasis. "I do. A lot more! If he had only
been explicit at first--however, he wasn't. Now it's done. As things
stand--look here, does it strike you that your father is in a very
serious position?"

"Serious?" she exclaimed.

"Dangerous! Here's the fact--he's admitted that he took Marbury to his
rooms in the Temple that midnight. Well, next morning Marbury's found
robbed and murdered in an entry, not fifty yards off!"

"Does anybody suppose that my father would murder him for the sake of
robbing him of whatever he had on him?" she laughed scornfully. "My
father is a very wealthy man, Mr. Spargo."

"May be," answered Spargo. "But millionaires have been known to murder
men who held secrets."

"Secrets!" she exclaimed.

"Have some more tea," said Spargo, nodding at the teapot. "Look
here--this way it is. The theory that people--some people--will build
up (I won't say that it hasn't suggested itself to me) is
this:--There's some mystery about the relationship, acquaintanceship,
connection, call it what you like, of your father and Marbury twenty
odd years ago. Must be. There's some mystery about your father's life,
twenty odd years ago. Must be--or else he'd have answered those
questions. Very well. 'Ha, ha!' says the general public. 'Now we have
it!' 'Marbury,' says the general public, 'was a man who had a hold on
Aylmore. He turned up. Aylmore trapped him into the Temple, killed him
to preserve his own secret, and robbed him of all he had on him as a
blind.' Eh?"

"You think--people will say that?" she exclaimed.

"Cock-sure! They're saying it. Heard half a dozen of 'em say it, in
m