ed with them last night and they talked of
little else," said Breton.

"And their theory--"

"Oh, still the murder for the sake of robbery!" replied Breton. "Old
Cardlestone is furious that such a thing could have happened at his
very door. He says that there ought to be a thorough enquiry into every
tenant of the Temple."

"Longish business that," observed Spargo. "Well, run away now,
Breton--I must write."

"Shall you be at Bow Street tomorrow morning?" asked Breton as he moved
to the door. "It's to be at ten-thirty."

"No, I shan't!" replied Spargo. "It'll only be a remand, and I know
already just as much as I should hear there. I've got something much
more important to do. But you'll remember what I asked of you--get
Aylmore to read my story in the _Watchman_, and beg him to speak out
and tell all he knows--all!"

And when Breton had gone, Spargo again murmured those last words: "All
he knows--all!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MISS BAYLIS

Next day, a little before noon, Spargo found himself in one of those
pretentious yet dismal Bayswater squares, which are almost entirely
given up to the trade, calling, or occupation of the lodging and
boarding-house keeper. They are very pretentious, those squares, with
their many-storied houses, their stuccoed frontages, and their
pilastered and balconied doorways; innocent country folk, coming into
them from the neighbouring station of Paddington, take them to be the
residences of the dukes and earls who, of course, live nowhere else but
in London. They are further encouraged in this belief by the fact that
young male persons in evening dress are often seen at the doorways in
more or less elegant attitudes. These, of course, are taken by the
country folk to be young lords enjoying the air of Bayswater, but
others, more knowing, are aware that they are Swiss or German waiters
whose linen might be cleaner.

Spargo gauged the character of the house at which he called as soon as
the door was opened to him. There was the usual smell of eggs and
bacon, of fish and chops; the usual mixed and ancient collection of
overcoats, wraps, and sticks in the hall; the usual sort of parlourmaid
to answer the bell. And presently, in answer to his enquiries, there
was the usual type of landlady confronting him, a more than middle-aged
person who desired to look younger, and made attempts in the way of
false hair, teeth, and a little rouge, and who wore that somewhat air
and smile