“Good?” asked Rathbury.

“Extra good.  I’ve found out who Marbury really was.”

“No!  Really?”

“No doubt, to my mind.  I’m certain of it.”

Rathbury sat down at his desk, watching Spargo with rapt attention.

“And who was he?” he asked.

“John Maitland, once of Market Milcaster,” replied Spargo.  “Ex-bank manager.  Also ex-convict.”

“Ex-convict!”

“Ex-convict.  He was sentenced, at Market Milcaster Quarter Sessions, in autumn, 1891, to ten years’ penal servitude, for embezzling the bank’s money, to the tune of over two hundred thousand pounds.  Served his term at Dartmoor.  Went to Australia as soon, or soon after, he came out.  That’s who Marbury was—­Maitland.  Dead—­certain!”

Rathbury still stared at his caller.

“Go on!” he said.  “Tell all about it, Spargo.  Let’s hear every detail.  I’ll tell you all I know after.  But what I know’s nothing to that.”

Spargo told him the whole story of his adventures at Market Milcaster, and the detective listened with rapt attention.

“Yes,” he said at the end.  “Yes—­I don’t think there’s much doubt about that.  Well, that clears up a lot, doesn’t it?”

Spargo yawned.

“Yes, a whole slate full is wiped off there,” he said.  “I haven’t so much interest in Marbury, or Maitland now.  My interest is all in Aylmore.”

Rathbury nodded.

“Yes,” he said.  “The thing to find out is—­who is Aylmore, or who was he, twenty years ago?”

“Your people haven’t found anything out, then?” asked Spargo.

“Nothing beyond the irreproachable history of Mr. Aylmore since he returned to this country, a very rich man, some ten years since,” answered Rathbury, smiling.  “They’ve no previous dates to go on.  What are you going to do next, Spargo?”

“Seek out that Miss Baylis,” replied Spargo.

“You think you could get something there?” asked Rathbury.

“Look here!” said Spargo.  “I don’t believe for a second Aylmore killed Marbury.  I believe I shall get at the truth by following up what I call the Maitland trail.  This Miss Baylis must know something—­if she’s alive.  Well, now I’m going to report at the office.  Keep in touch with me, Rathbury.”

He went on then to the Watchman office, and as he got out of his taxi-cab at its door, another cab came up and set down Mr. Aylmore’s daughters.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE BLANK PAST

Jessie Aylmore came forward to meet Spargo with ready confidence; the elder girl hung back diffidently.

“May we speak to you?” said Jessie.  “We have come on purpose to speak to you.  Evelyn didn’t want to come, but I made her come.”

Spargo shook hands silently with Evelyn Aylmore and motioned them both to follow him.  He took them straight upstairs to his room and bestowed them in his easiest chairs before he addressed them.