“I perceive, sir,” said Mr. Quarterpage, as Spargo entered the library, “that you have read the account of the Maitland trial.”

“Twice,” replied Spargo.

“And you have come to the conclusion that—­but what conclusion have you come to?” asked Mr. Quarterpage.

“That the silver ticket in my purse was Maitland’s property,” said Spargo, who was not going to give all his conclusions at once.

“Just so,” agreed the old gentleman.  “I think so—­I can’t think anything else.  But I was under the impression that I could have accounted for that ticket, just as I am sure I can account for the other forty-nine.”

“Yes—­and how?” asked Spargo.

Mr. Quarterpage turned to a corner cupboard and in silence produced a decanter and two curiously-shaped old wine-glasses.  He carefully polished the glasses with a cloth which he took from a drawer, and set glasses and decanter on a table in the window, motioning Spargo to take a chair in proximity thereto.  He himself pulled up his own elbow-chair.

“We’ll take a glass of my old brown sherry,” he said.  “Though I say it as shouldn’t, as the saying goes, I don’t think you could find better brown sherry than that from Land’s End to Berwick-upon-Tweed, Mr. Spargo—­no, nor further north either, where they used to have good taste in liquor in my young days!  Well, here’s your good health, sir, and I’ll tell you about Maitland.”

“I’m curious,” said Spargo.  “And about more than Maitland.  I want to know about a lot of things arising out of that newspaper report.  I want to know something about the man referred to so much—­the stockbroker, Chamberlayne.”

“Just so,” observed Mr. Quarterpage, smiling.  “I thought that would touch your sense of the inquisitive.  But Maitland first.  Now, when Maitland went to prison, he left behind him a child, a boy, just then about two years old.  The child’s mother was dead.  Her sister, a Miss Baylis, appeared on the scene—­Maitland had married his wife from a distance—­and took possession of the child and of Maitland’s personal effects.  He had been made bankrupt while he was awaiting his trial, and all his household goods were sold.  But this Miss Baylis took some small personal things, and I always believed that she took the silver ticket.  And she may have done, for anything I know to the contrary.  Anyway, she took the child away, and there was an end of the Maitland family in Market Milcaster.  Maitland, of course, was in due procedure of things removed to Dartmoor, and there he served his term.  There were people who were very anxious to get hold of him when he came out—­the bank people, for they believed that he knew more about the disposition of that money than he’d ever told, and they wanted to induce him to tell what they hoped he knew—­between ourselves, Mr. Spargo, they were going to make it worth his while to tell.”

Spargo tapped the newspaper, which he had retained while the old gentleman talked.