“A game!” exclaimed Breton.  “Good heavens—­what game?”

“I never knew until I had possession of all these things that Marbury was Maitland of Market Milcaster,” answered Myerst.  “When I did know then I began to put things together and to pursue my own line, independent of everybody.  I tell you I had all Maitland’s papers and possessions, by that time—­except one thing.  That packet of Australian stamps.  And—­I found out that those stamps were in the hands of—­Cardlestone!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

THE FINAL TELEGRAM

Myerst paused, to take a pull at his glass, and to look at the two amazed listeners with a smile of conscious triumph.

“In the hands of Cardlestone,” he repeated.  “Now, what did I argue from that?  Why, of course, that Maitland had been to Cardlestone’s rooms that night.  Wasn’t he found lying dead at the foot of Cardlestone’s stairs?  Aye—­but who found him?  Not the porter—­not the police—­not you, Master Spargo, with all your cleverness.  The man who found Maitland lying dead there that night was—­I!”

In the silence that followed, Spargo, who had been making notes of what Myerst said, suddenly dropped his pencil and thrusting his hands in his pockets sat bolt upright with a look which Breton, who was watching him seriously, could not make out.  It was the look of a man whose ideas and conceptions are being rudely upset.  And Myerst, too, saw it and he laughed, more sneeringly than ever.

“That’s one for you, Spargo!” he said.  “That surprises you—­that makes you think.  Now what do you think?—­if one may ask.”

“I think,” said Spargo, “that you are either a consummate liar, or that this mystery is bigger than before.”

“I can lie when it’s necessary,” retorted Myerst.  “Just now it isn’t necessary.  I’m telling you the plain truth:  there’s no reason why I shouldn’t.  As I’ve said before, although you two young bullies have tied me up in this fashion, you can’t do anything against me.  I’ve a power of attorney from those two old men in there, and that’s enough to satisfy anybody as to my possession of their cheques and securities.  I’ve the whip hand of you, my sons, in all ways.  And that’s why I’m telling you the truth—­to amuse myself during this period of waiting.  The plain truth, my sons!”

“In pursuance of which,” observed Breton, drily, “I think you mentioned that you were the first person to find my father lying dead?”

“I was.  That is—­as far as I can gather.  I’ll tell you all about it.  As I said, I live over Cardlestone.  That night I came home very late—­it was well past one o’clock.  There was nobody about—­as a matter of fact, no one has residential chambers in that building but Cardlestone and myself.  I found the body of a man lying in the entry.  I struck a match and immediately recognized my visitor of the afternoon—­John Marbury.  Now,