very
door," he said. "Also, I have known more than one man who went to
Australia. This might--I say might, young gentlemen--might be a man I
had once known. Show me where this body is."

Breton looked helplessly at Spargo: it was plain that he did not
understand the turn that things were taking. But Spargo was quick to
seize an opportunity. In another minute he was conducting Mr.
Cardlestone through the ins and outs of the Temple towards Blackfriars.
And as they turned into Tudor Street they encountered Mr. Elphick.

"I am going to the mortuary," he remarked. "So, I suppose, are you,
Cardlestone? Has anything more been discovered, young man?"

Spargo tried a chance shot--at what he did not know. "The man's name
was Marbury," he said. "He was from Australia."

He was keeping a keen eye on Mr. Elphick, but he failed to see that Mr.
Elphick showed any of the surprise which Mr. Cardlestone had exhibited.
Rather, he seemed indifferent.

"Oh?" he said--"Marbury? And from Australia. Well--I should like to see
the body."

Spargo and Breton had to wait outside the mortuary while the two elder
gentlemen went in. There was nothing to be learnt from either when they
reappeared.

"We don't know the man," said Mr. Elphick, calmly. "As Mr. Cardlestone,
I understand, has said to you already--we have known men who went to
Australia, and as this man was evidently wandering about the Temple, we
thought it might have been one of them, come back. But--we don't
recognize him."

"Couldn't recognize him," said Mr. Cardlestone. "No!"

They went away together arm in arm, and Breton looked at Spargo.

"As if anybody on earth ever fancied they'd recognize him!" he said.
"Well--what are you going to do now, Spargo? I must go."

Spargo, who had been digging his walking-stick into a crack in the
pavement, came out of a fit of abstraction.

"I?" he said. "Oh--I'm going to the office." And he turned abruptly
away, and walking straight off to the editorial rooms at the
_Watchman_, made for one in which sat the official guardian of the
editor. "Try to get me a few minutes with the chief," he said.

The private secretary looked up.

"Really important?" he asked.

"Big!" answered Spargo. "Fix it."

Once closeted with the great man, whose idiosyncrasies he knew pretty
well by that time, Spargo lost no time.

"You've heard about this murder in Middle Temple Lane?" he suggested.

"The mere facts," replied the editor, tersely.

"I was