“Remarkable—­remarkable, Mr. Myerst!” he assented.  “What do you say, Mr. Spargo?”

Spargo turned slowly, and for the first time since Myerst had entered made a careful inspection of him.  The inspection lasted several seconds; then Spargo spoke.

“And what did you say to that?” he asked quietly.

Myerst looked from his questioner to Rathbury.  And Rathbury thought it time to enlighten the caller.

“I may as well tell you, Mr. Myerst,” he said smilingly, “that this is Mr. Spargo, of the Watchman.  Mr. Spargo wrote the article about the Marbury case of which you spoke when you came in.  Mr. Spargo, you’ll gather, is deeply interested in this matter—­and he and I, in our different capacities, are working together.  So—­you understand?” Myerst regarded Spargo in a new light.  And while he was so looking at him.  Spargo repeated the question he had just put.

“I said—­What did you say to that?”

Myerst hesitated.

“Well—­er—­I don’t think I said anything,” he replied.  “Nothing that one might call material, you know.”

“Didn’t ask him what he meant?” suggested Spargo.

“Oh, no—­not at all,” replied Myerst.

Spargo got up abruptly from his chair.

“Then you missed one of the finest opportunities I ever heard of!” he said, half-sneeringly.  “You might have heard such a story—­”

He paused, as if it were not worth while to continue, and turned to Rathbury, who was regarding him with amusement.

“Look here, Rathbury,” he said.  “Is it possible to get that box opened?”

“It’ll have to be opened,” answered Rathbury, rising.  “It’s got to be opened.  It probably contains the clue we want.  I’m going to ask Mr. Myerst here to go with me just now to take the first steps about having it opened.  I shall have to get an order.  We may get the matter through today, but at any rate we’ll have it done tomorrow morning.”

“Can you arrange for me to be present when that comes off?” asked Spargo.  “You can—­certain?  That’s all right, Rathbury.  Now I’m off, and you’ll ring me up or come round if you hear anything, and I’ll do the same by you.”

And without further word, Spargo went quickly away, and just as quickly returned to the Watchman office.  There the assistant who had been told off to wait upon his orders during this new crusade met him with a business card.

“This gentleman came in to see you about an hour ago, Mr. Spargo,” he said.  “He thinks he can tell you something about the Marbury affair, and he said that as he couldn’t wait, perhaps you’d step round to his place when you came in.”

Spargo took the card and read: 

  MR. JAMES CRIEDIR,
  DEALER IN PHILATELIC RARITIES,
  2,021, STRAND.