Breton took up Myerst’s letter-case and examined its contents.  And presently he turned to Spargo.

“He’s right!” he whispered.  “This is quite in order.”  He turned to Myerst.  “All the same,” he said, addressing him, “we shan’t release you, because we believe you’re concerned in the murder of John Marbury.  We’re justified in holding you on that account.”

“All right, my young friend,” said Myerst.  “Have your own stupid way.  But I said I’d tell you the plain truth.  Well, the plain truth is that I know no more of the absolute murder of your father than I know of what is going on in Timbuctoo at this moment!  I do not know who killed John Maitland.  That’s a fact!  It may have been the old man in there who’s already at his own last gasp, or it mayn’t.  I tell you I don’t know—­though, like you, Spargo, I’ve tried hard to find out.  That’s the truth—­I do not know.”

“You expect us to believe that?” exclaimed Breton incredulously.

“Believe it or not, as you like—­it’s the truth,” answered Myerst.  “Now, look here—­I said nobody knew as much of this affair as I know, and that’s true also.  And here’s the truth of what I know.  The old man in that room, whom you know as Nicholas Cardlestone, is in reality Chamberlayne, the stockbroker, of Market Milcaster, whose name was so freely mentioned when your father was tried there.  That’s another fact!”

“How,” asked Breton, sternly, “can you prove it?  How do you know it?”

“Because,” replied Myerst, with a cunning grin, “I helped to carry out his mock death and burial—­I was a solicitor in those days, and my name was—­something else.  There were three of us at it:  Chamberlayne’s nephew; a doctor of no reputation; and myself.  We carried it out very cleverly, and Chamberlayne gave us five thousand pounds apiece for our trouble.  It was not the first time that I had helped him and been well paid for my help.  The first time was in connection with the Cloudhampton Hearth and Home Mutual Benefit Society affair—­Aylmore, or Ainsworth, was as innocent as a child in that!—­Chamberlayne was the man at the back.  But, unfortunately, Chamberlayne didn’t profit—­he lost all he got by it, pretty quick.  That was why be transferred his abilities to Market Milcaster.”

“You can prove all this, I suppose?” remarked Spargo.

“Every word—­every letter!  But about the Market Milcaster affair:  Your father, Breton, was right in what he said about Chamberlayne having all the money that was got from the bank.  He had—­and he engineered that mock death and funeral so that he could disappear, and he paid us who helped him generously, as I’ve told you.  The thing couldn’t have been better done.  When it was done, the nephew disappeared; the doctor disappeared; Chamberlayne disappeared.  I had bad luck—­to tell you the truth, I was struck off the rolls for a technical offence.  So I changed my name and became Mr. Myerst, and eventually what