“We’ll look at that, if you please,” said Rathbury.

Walters fetched in the register and turned the leaf to the previous day’s entries.  They all bent over the dead man’s writing.

“‘John Marbury, Coolumbidgee, New South Wales,’” said Rathbury.  “Ah—­now I was wondering if that writing would be the same as that on the scrap of paper, Mr. Breton.  But, you see, it isn’t—­it’s quite different.”

“Quite different,” said Breton.  He, too, was regarding the handwriting with great interest.  And Rathbury noticed his keen inspection of it, and asked another question.

“Ever seen that writing before?” he suggested.

“Never,” answered Breton.  “And yet—­there’s something very familiar about it.”

“Then the probability is that you have seen it before,” remarked Rathbury.  “Well—­now we’ll hear a little more about Marbury’s doings here.  Just tell me all you know, Mr. and Mrs. Walters.”

“My wife knows most,” said Walters.  “I scarcely saw the man—­I don’t remember speaking with him.”

“No,” said Mrs. Walters.  “You didn’t—­you weren’t much in his way.  Well,” she continued, “I showed him up to his room.  He talked a bit—­said he’d just landed at Southampton from Melbourne.”

“Did he mention his ship?” asked Rathbury.  “But if he didn’t, it doesn’t matter, for we can find out.”

“I believe the name’s on his things,” answered the landlady.  “There are some labels of that sort.  Well, he asked for a chop to be cooked for him at once, as he was going out.  He had his chop, and he went out at exactly one o’clock, saying to me that he expected he’d get lost, as he didn’t know London well at any time, and shouldn’t know it at all now.  He went outside there—­I saw him—­looked about him and walked off towards Blackfriars way.  During the afternoon the cap you spoke of came for him—­from Fiskie’s.  So, of course, I judged he’d been Piccadilly way.  But he himself never came in until ten o’clock.  And then he brought a gentleman with him.”

“Aye?” said Rathbury.  “A gentleman, now?  Did you see him?”

“Just,” replied the landlady.  “They went straight up to 20, and I just caught a mere glimpse of the gentleman as they turned up the stairs.  A tall, well-built gentleman, with a grey beard, very well dressed as far as I could see, with a top hat and a white silk muffler round his throat, and carrying an umbrella.”

“And they went to Marbury’s room?” said Rathbury.  “What then?”

“Well, then, Mr. Marbury rang for some whiskey and soda,” continued Mrs. Walters.  “He was particular to have a decanter of whiskey:  that, and a syphon of soda were taken up there.  I heard nothing more until nearly midnight; then the hall-porter told me that the gentleman in 20 had gone out, and had asked him if there was a night-porter—­as, of course, there is.  He went out at half-past eleven.”

“And the other gentleman?” asked Rathbury.