“Spargo,” he said, “I’m pretty sure you’ll find whisky in there.  Give them both a stiff dose:  they’ve broken up.  Now, guardian,” he continued, when Spargo had carried out this order, “what was he after?  Shall I suggest it?  Was it—­blackmail?”

Cardlestone began to whimper; Elphick nodded his head.  “Yes, yes!” he muttered.  “Blackmail!  That was it—­blackmail.  He—­he got money—­papers—­from us.  They’re on him.”

Breton turned on the captive with a look of contempt.

“I thought as much, Mr. Myerst,” he said.  “Spargo, let’s see what he has on him.”

Spargo began to search the prisoner’s pockets.  He laid out everything on the table as he found it.  It was plain that Myerst had contemplated some sort of flight or a long, long journey.  There was a quantity of loose gold; a number of bank-notes of the more easily negotiated denominations; various foreign securities, realizable in Paris.  And there was an open cheque, signed by Cardlestone for ten thousand pounds, and another, with Elphick’s name at the foot, also open, for half that amount.  Breton examined all these matters as Spargo handed them out.  He turned to old Elphick.

“Guardian,” he said, “why have you or Mr. Cardlestone given this man these cheques and securities?  What hold has he on you?”

Old Cardlestone began to whimper afresh; Elphick turned a troubled face on his ward.

“He—­he threatened to accuse us of the murder of Marbury!” he faltered.  “We—­we didn’t see that we had a chance.”

“What does he know of the murder of Marbury and of you in connection with it?” demanded Breton.  “Come—­tell me the truth now.”

“He’s been investigating—­so he says,” answered Elphick.  “He lives in that house in Middle Temple Lane, you know, in the top-floor rooms above Cardlestone’s.  And—­and he says he’s the fullest evidence against Cardlestone—­and against me as an accessory after the fact.”

“And—­it’s a lie?” asked Breton.

“A lie!” answered Elphick.  “Of course, it’s a lie.  But—­he’s so clever that—­that——­”

“That you don’t know how you could prove it otherwise,” said Breton.  “Ah!  And so this fellow lives over Mr. Cardlestone there, does he?  That may account for a good many things.  Now we must have the police here.”  He sat down at the table and drew the writing materials to him.  “Look here, Spargo,” he continued.  “I’m going to write a note to the superintendent of police at Hawes—­there’s a farm half a mile from here where I can get a man to ride down to Hawes with the note.  Now, if you want to send a wire to the Watchman, draft it out, and he’ll take it with him.”

Elphick began to move in his corner.

“Must the police come?” he said.  “Must——­”

“The police must come,” answered Breton firmly.  “Go ahead with your wire, Spargo, while I write this note.”

Three quarters of an hour later, when Breton came back from the farm, he sat down at Elphick’s side and laid his hand on the old man’s.