CHAPTER NINE
THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS
"Buried—and deep-down, too—for many and many a year," repeated Mr. Myerst, eyeing his companions with keen glances. "I consider that, gentlemen, a very remarkable remark—very remarkable!"
Rathbury stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat again and began swaying backwards and forwards in his chair. He looked at Spargo. And with his knowledge of men, he knew that all Spargo's journalistic instincts had been aroused, and that he was keen as mustard to be off on a new scent.
"Remarkable—remarkable, Mr. Myerst!" he assented. "What do you say, Mr. Spargo?"
Spargo turned slowly, and for the first time since Myerst had entered made a careful inspection of him. The inspection lasted several seconds; then Spargo spoke.
"And what did you say to that?" he asked quietly.
Myerst looked from his questioner to Rathbury. And Rathbury thought it time to enlighten the caller.
"I may as well tell you, Mr. Myerst," he said smilingly, "that this is Mr. Spargo, of the Watchman. Mr. Spargo wrote the article about the Marbury case of which you spoke when you came in. Mr. Spargo, you'll gather,
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