removed that of Mr. Aylmore, put it in an envelope and the envelope in his pocket and, leaving the office, hailed taxi-cab, and ordered its driver to take him to the Anglo-Orient Hotel. This was the something-to-do of which he had spoken to Breton: Spargo wanted to do it alone.
Mrs. Walters was in her low-windowed office when Spargo entered the hall; she recognized him at once and motioned him into her parlour.
"I remember you," said Mrs. "Walters; "you came with the detective—Mr. Rathbury."
"Have you seen him, since?" asked Spargo.
"Not since," replied Mrs. "Walters. "No—and I was wondering if he'd be coming round, because" She paused there and looked at Spargo with particular enquiry—"You're a friend of his, aren't you?" she asked. "I suppose you know as much as he does—about this?"
"He and I," replied Spargo, with easy confidence, "are working this case together. You can tell me anything you'd tell him."
The landlady rummaged in her pocket and produced an old purse, from an inner compartment of which she brought out a small object wrapped in tissue paper.
"Well," she said, unwrapping the paper, "we found this in Number 20 this morning—it was lying under the dressing-table. The girl that found it brought it to me, and I thought it was a bit of glass, but Walters, he says as how he shouldn't be surprised if it's a diamond. And since we found it, the waiter who took the whisky up to 20, after Mr. Marbury came in with the other gentleman, has told me that when he went into the room the two
