night. And it's evident that Cardlestone shares in that fright, or they wouldn't have gone off in this way together."
"Do you think they know anything of the actual murder?"
Spargo shook his head.
"I don't know. Probably. They know something. And—look here!"
Spargo put his hand in his breast pocket and drew something out which he handed to Breton, who gazed at it curiously.
"What's this?" he demanded. "Stamps?"
"That, from the description of Criedir, the stamp-dealer, is a sheet of those rare Australian stamps which Maitland had on him—carried on him. I picked it up just now in Cardlestone's room, when you were looking into his bedroom."
"But that, after all, proves nothing. Those mayn't be the identical stamps. And whether they are or not"
"What are the probabilities?" interrupted Spargo sharply. "I believe that those are the stamps which Maitland—your father!—had on him, and I want to know how they came to be in Cardlestone's rooms. And I will know."
Breton handed the stamps back.
"But the general thing, Spargo?" he said. "If they didn't murder—I can't realize the thing yet!—my father"
"If they didn't murder your father, they know who did!" exclaimed Spargo. "Now, then, it's time for
