Marbury, stopped with him a while in his room, and left with him.
The man is Mr. Stephen Aylmore, the member for Brookminster."

Rathbury expressed his feelings in a sharp whistle.

"I know him!" he said. "Of course--I remember Mrs. Walters's
description now. But his is a familiar type--tall, grey-bearded,
well-dressed. Um!--well, we'll have to see Mr. Aylmore at once."

"I've seen him," said Spargo. "Naturally! For you see, Mrs. Walters
gave me a bit more evidence. This morning they found a loose diamond on
the floor of Number 20, and after it was found the waiter who took the
drinks up to Marbury and his guest that night remembered that when he
entered the room the two gentlemen were looking at a paper full of
similar objects. So then I went on to see Mr. Aylmore. You know young
Breton, the barrister?--you met him with me, you remember?"

"The young fellow whose name and address were found on Marbury,"
replied Rathbury. "I remember."

"Breton is engaged to Aylmore's daughter," continued Spargo. "Breton
took me to Aylmore's club. And Aylmore gives a plain, straightforward
account of the matter which he's granted me leave to print. It clears
up a lot of things. Aylmore knew Marbury over twenty years ago. He lost
sight of him. They met accidentally in the lobby of the House on the
evening preceding the murder. Marbury told him that he wanted his
advice about those rare things, Australian diamonds. He went back with
him to his hotel and spent a while with him; then they walked out
together as far as Waterloo Bridge, where Aylmore left him and went
home. Further, the scrap of grey paper is accounted for. Marbury wanted
the address of a smart solicitor; Aylmore didn't know of one but told
Marbury that if he called on young Breton, he'd know, and would put him
in the way to find one. Marbury wrote Breton's address down. That's
Aylmore's story. But it's got an important addition. Aylmore says that
when he left Marbury, Marbury had on him a quantity of those diamonds
in a wash-leather bag, a lot of gold, and a breast-pocket full of
letters and papers. Now--there was nothing on him when he was found
dead in Middle Temple Lane."

Spargo stopped and lighted a fresh cigarette.

"That's all I know," he said. "What do you make of it?"

Rathbury leaned back in his chair in his apparently favourite attitude
and stared hard at the dusty ceiling above him.

"Don't know," he said. "It brings things up to a point, certainly.
Ayl