Spargo cut his visitor short in polite fashion and bowed him out. He turned to Breton, who still stood staring at the album of portraits.
"There!—what did I tell you?" he said. "Didn't I say I should get some news? There it is."
Breton nodded his head. He seemed thoughtful.
"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, I say, Spargo!"
"Well?"
"Mr. Aylmore is my prospective father-in-law, you know."
"Quite aware of it. Didn't you introduce me to his daughters—only yesterday?"
"But—how did you know they were his daughters?"
Spargo laughed as he sat down to his desk.
"Instinct—intuition," he answered. "However, never mind that, just now. Well—I've found something out. Marbury—if that is the dead man's real name, and anyway, it's all we know him by—was in the company of Mr. Aylmore that night. Good!"
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Breton.
"Do? See Mr. Aylmore, of course."
He was turning over the leaves of a telephone address-book; one hand had already picked up the mouthpiece of the instrument on his desk.
"Look here," said Breton. "I know where Mr. Aylmore is always to be found at twelve o'clock. At the A. and P.—the Atlantic and Pacific Club, you know, in St. James's. If you like, I'll go with you."
Spargo glanced at the clock and laid down the telephone.
"All right," he said. "Eleven o'clock, now. I've
