CHAPTER TWENTY
MAITLAND _ALIAS_ MARBURY
This remarkable declaration awoke such a new conception of matters inSpargo's mind, aroused such infinitely new possibilities in hisimagination, that for a full moment he sat silently staring at hisinformant, who chuckled with quiet enjoyment at his visitor's surprise.
"Do you mean to tell me," said Spargo at last, "that there are peoplein this town who still believe that the coffin in your cemetery whichis said to contain Chamberlayne's body contains--lead?"
"Lots of 'em, my dear sir!" replied Mr. Quarterpage. "Lots of 'em! Goout in the street and ask the first six men you meet, and I'll gobail that four out of the six believe it."
"Then why, in the sacred name of common sense did no one ever takesteps to make certain?" asked Spargo. "Why didn't they get an order forexhumation?"
"Because it was nobody's particular business to do so," answered Mr.Quarterpage. "You don't know country-town life, my dear sir. In townslike Market Milcaster folks talk and gossip a great deal, but they'realways slow to do anything. It's a case of who'll start first--ofinitiative. And if they see it's going to cost anything--then they'llhave nothing to do with it."
"But--the bank people?" suggested Spargo.
Mr. Quarterpage shook his head.
"They're amongst the lot who believe that Chamberlayne did die," hesaid. "They're very old-fashioned, conservative-minded people, theGutchbys and the Hostables, and they accepted the version of thenephew, and the doctor, and the solicitor. But now I'll tell yousomething about those three. There was a man here in the town, agentleman of your own profession, who came to edit that paper you'vegot on your knee. He got interested in this Chamberlayne case, and hebegan to make enquiries with the idea of getting hold of somegood--what do you call it?"
"I suppose he'd call it 'copy,'" said Spargo.
"'Copy'--that was his term," agreed Mr. Quarterpage. "Well, he took thetrouble to go to London to ask some quiet questions of the nephew,Stephen. That was just twelve months after Chamberlayne had beenburied. But he found that Stephen Chamberlayne had left England--monthsbefore. Gone, they said, to one of the colonies, but they didn't knowwhich. And the solicitor had also gone. And the doctor--couldn't betraced, no, sir, not even through the Medical Register. What do youthink of all that, Mr. Spargo?"
"I think," answered Spargo, "that Market Milcaster folk areconsiderably slow. I should have had that death and burial enquiredinto. The whole thing looks to me like a conspiracy."
"Well, sir, it was, as I say, nobody's business," said Mr. Quarterpage."The newspaper gentleman tried to stir up interest in it, but it was nogood, and very soon afterwards he left. And there it is."
"Mr. Quarterpage," said Spargo, "what's your own honest opinion?"
The old gentleman smiled.
"Ah!" he said. "I've often wondered, Mr. Spargo, if I really have anopinion on that point. I think that what I probably feel about thewhole affair is that there was a good deal of mystery attaching to it.But we seem, sir, to have gone a long way from the question of that oldsilver ticket which you've got in your purse. Now----"
"No!" said Spargo, interrupting his host with an accompanying wag ofhis forefinger. "No! I think we're coming nearer to it. Now you'vegiven me a great deal of your time, Mr. Quarterpage, and told me a lot,and, first of all, before I tell you a lot, I'm going to show yousomething."
And Spargo took out of his pocket-book a carefully-mounted photographof John Marbury--the original of the process-picture which he had hadmade for the _Watchman_. He handed it over.
"Do you recognize that photograph as that of anybody you know?" heasked. "Look at it well and closely."
Mr. Quarterpage put on a special pair of spectacles and studied thephotograph from several points of view.
"No, sir," he said at last with a shake of the head. "I don't recognizeit at all."
"Can't see in it any resemblance to any man you've ever known?" askedSpargo.
"No, sir, none!" replied Mr. Quarterpage. "None whatever."
"Very well," said Spargo, laying the photograph on the table betweenthem. "Now, then, I want you to tell me what John Maitland was likewhen you knew him. Also, I want you to describe Chamberlayne as he waswhen he died, or was supposed to die. You remember them, of course,quite well?"
Mr. Quarterpage got up and moved to the door.
"I can do better than that," he said. "I can show you photographs ofboth men as they were just before Maitland's trial. I have a photographof a small group of Market Milcaster notabilities which was taken at amunicipal garden-party; Maitland and Chamberlayne are both in it. It'sbeen put away in a cabinet in my drawing-room for many a long year, andI've no doubt it's as fresh as when it was taken."
He left the room and presently returned with a large mounted photographwhich he laid on the table before his visitor.
"There you are, sir," he said. "Quite fresh, you see--it must begetting on to twenty years since that was taken out of the drawer thatit's been kept in. Now, that's Maitland. And that's Chamberlayne."
Spargo found himself looking at a group of men who stood against anivy-covered wall in the stiff attitudes in which photographers arrangemasses of sitters. He fixed his attention on the two figures indicatedby Mr. Quarterpage, and saw two medium-heighted, rather sturdily-builtmen about whom there was nothing very specially noticeable.
"Um!" he said, musingly. "Both bearded."
"Yes, they both wore beards--full beards," assented Mr. Quarterpage."And you see, they weren't so much alike. But Maitland was a muchdarker man than Chamberlayne, and he had brown eyes, whileChamberlayne's were rather a bright blue."
"The removal of a beard makes a great difference," remarked Spargo. Helooked at the photograph of Maitland in the group, comparing it withthat of Marbury which he had taken from his pocket. "And twenty yearsmakes a difference, too," he added musingly.
"To some people twenty years makes a vast difference, sir," said theold gentleman. "To others it makes none--I haven't changed much, theytell me, during the past twenty years. But I've known men change--age,almost beyond recognition!--in five years. It depends, sir, on whatthey go through."
Spargo suddenly laid aside the photographs, put his hands in hispockets, and looked steadfastly at Mr. Quarterpage.
"Look here!" he said. "I'm going to tell you what I'm after, Mr.Quarterpage. I'm sure you've heard all about what's known as the MiddleTemple Murder--the Marbury case?"
"Yes, I've read of it," replied Mr. Quarterpage.
"Have you read the accounts of it in my paper, the _Watchman_?" askedSpargo.
Mr. Quarterpage shook his head.
"I've only read one newspaper, sir, since I was a young man," hereplied. "I take the _Times_, sir--we always took it, aye, even in thedays when newspapers were taxed."
"Very good," said Spargo. "But perhaps I can tell you a little morethan you've read, for I've been working up that case ever since thebody of the man known as John Marbury was found. Now, if you'll justgive me your attention, I'll tell you the whole story from that momentuntil--now."
And Spargo, briefly, succinctly, re-told the story of the Marbury casefrom the first instant of his own connection with it until thediscovery of the silver ticket, and Mr. Quarterpage listened in raptattention, nodding his head from time to time as the younger man madehis points.
"And now, Mr. Quarterpage," concluded Spargo, "this is the point I'vecome to. I believe that the man who came to the Anglo-Orient Hotel asJohn Marbury and who was undoubtedly murdered in Middle Temple Lanethat night, was John Maitland--I haven't a doubt about it afterlearning what you tell me about the silver ticket. I've found out agreat deal that's valuable here, and I think I'm getting nearer to asolution of the mystery. That is, of course, to find out who murderedJohn Maitland, or Marbury. What you have told me about the Chamberlayneaffair has led me to think this--there may have been people, or aperson, in London, who was anxious to get Marbury, as we'll call him,out of the way, and who somehow encountered him
that night--anxious tosilence him, I mean, because of the Chamberlayne affair. And Iwondered, as there is so much mystery about him, and as he won't giveany account of himself, if this man Aylmore was really Chamberlayne.Yes, I wondered that! But Aylmore's a tall, finely-built man, quite sixfeet in height, and his beard, though it's now getting grizzled, hasbeen very dark, and Chamberlayne, you say, was a medium-sized, fairman, with blue eyes."
"That's so, sir," assented Mr. Quarterpage. "Yes, a middling-sized man,and fair--very fair. Deary me, Mr. Spargo!--this is a revelation. Andyou really think, sir, that John Maitland and John Marbury are one andthe same person?"
"I'm sure of it, now," said Spargo. "I see it in this way. Maitland, onhis release, went out to Australia, and there he stopped. At last hecomes back, evidently well-to-do. He's murdered the very day of hisarrival. Aylmore is the only man who knows anything of him--Aylmorewon't tell all he knows; that's flat. But Aylmore's admitted that heknew him at some vague date, say from twenty-one to twenty-two or threeyears ago. Now, where did Aylmore know him? He says in London. That's avague term. He won't say where--he won't say anything definite--hewon't even say what he, Aylmore, himself was in those days. Do yourecollect anything of anybody like Aylmore coming here to see Maitland,Mr. Quarterpage?"
"I don't," answered Mr. Quarterpage. "Maitland was a very quiet,retiring fellow, sir: he was about the quietest man in the town. Inever remember that he had visitors; certainly I've no recollection ofsuch a friend of his as this Aylmore, from your description of him,would be at that time."
"Did Maitland go up to London much in those days?" asked Spargo.
Mr. Quarterpage laughed.
"Well, now, to show you what a good memory I have," he said, "I'll tellyou of something that occurred across there at the 'Dragon' only a fewmonths before the Maitland affair came out. There were some of us inthere one evening, and, for a rare thing, Maitland came in withChamberlayne. Chamberlayne happened to remark that he was going up totown next day--he was always to and fro--and we got talking aboutLondon. And Maitland said in course of conversation, that he believedhe was about the only man of his age in England--and, of course, hemeant of his class and means--who'd never even seen London! And I don'tthink he ever went there between that time and his trial: in fact, I'msure he didn't, for if he had, I should have heard of it."
"Well, that's queer," remarked Spargo. "It's very queer. For I'mcertain Maitland and Marbury are one and the same person. My theoryabout that old leather box is that Maitland had that carefully plantedbefore his arrest; that he dug it up when he came put of Dartmoor; thathe took it off to Australia with him; that he brought it back with him;and that, of course, the silver ticket and the photograph had been init all these years. Now----"
At that moment the door of the library was opened, and a parlourmaidlooked in at her master.
"There's the boots from the 'Dragon' at the front door, sir," she said."He's brought two telegrams across from there for Mr. Spargo, thinkinghe might like to have them at once."