otograph we found in
the leather box with the silver ticket. I'm obliged to you, Mr. Cooper.
Now, there's just one more question I want to ask. Did you ever supply
any further copies of this photograph to anybody after the Maitland
affair?--that is; after the family had left the town?"

"Yes," replied the photographer. "I supplied half a dozen copies to
Miss Baylis, the child's aunt, who, as a matter of fact, brought him
here to be photographed. And I can give you her address, too," he
continued, beginning to turn over another old file. "I have it
somewhere."

Mr. Quarterpage nudged Spargo.

"That's something I couldn't have done!" he remarked. "As I told you,
she'd disappeared from Brighton when enquiries were made 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 rapidly wrote this address down, thanked the photographer for
his courtesy, and went out with Mr. Quarterpage. In the street he
turned to the old gentleman with a smile.

"Well, I don't think there's much doubt about that!" he exclaimed.
"Maitland and Marbury are the same man, Mr. Quarterpage. I'm as certain
of that as that I see your Town Hall there."

"And what will you do next, sir?" enquired Mr. Quarterpage.

"Thank you--as I do--for all your kindness and assistance, and get off
to town by this 1.20," replied Spargo. "And I shan't fail to let you
know how things go on."

"One moment," said the old gentleman, as Spargo was hurrying away, "do
you think this Mr. Aylmore really murdered Maitland?"

"No!" answered Spargo with emphasis. "I don't! And I think we've got a
good deal to do before we find out who did."

Spargo purposely let the Marbury case drop out of his mind during his
journey to town. He ate a hearty lunch in the train and talked with his
neighbours; it was a relief to let his mind and attention turn to
something else than the theme which had occupied it unceasingly for so
many days. But at Reading the newspaper boys were shouting the news of
the arrest of a Member of Parliament, and Spargo, glancing out of the
window, caught sight of a newspaper placard:

THE MARBURY MURDER CASE
ARREST OF MR. AYLMORE

He snatched a paper from a boy as the train moved out and; unfolding
it, found a mere announcement in the space reserved for stop-press
news:

"Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., was arre