"And who was he?" he asked.
"John Maitland, once of Market Milcaster," replied Spargo. "Ex-bank manager. Also ex-convict."
"Ex-convict!"
"Ex-convict. He was sentenced, at Market Milcaster quarter Sessions, in autumn, 1891, to ten years' penal servitude, for embezzling the bank's money, to the tune of over two hundred thousand pounds. Served his term at Dartmoor. Went to Australia as soon, or soon after, he came out. That's who Marbury was—Maitland. Dead—certain!"
Rathbury still stared at his caller.
"Go on!" he said. "Tell all about it, Spargo. Let's hear every detail. I'll tell you all I know after. But what I know's nothing to that."
Spargo told him the whole story of his adventures at Market Milcaster, and the detective listened with rapt attention.
"Yes," he said at the end. "Yes—I don't think there's much doubt about that. Well, that clears up a lot, doesn't it?"
Spargo yawned.
"Yes, a whole slate full is wiped off there," he said. "I haven't so much interest in Marbury, or Maitland now. My interest is all in Aylmore."
Rathbury nodded.
"Yes," he said. "The thing to find out is—who is Aylmore, or who was he, twenty years ago?"
"Your people haven't found anything out, then?" asked Spargo.
"Nothing beyond the irreproachable history of Mr.
