[Illustration] The Middle Temple Murder by J.S. Fletcher 1919 Contents CHAPTER I. THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER CHAPTER II. HIS FIRST BRIEF CHAPTER III. THE CLUE OF THE CAP CHAPTER IV. THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL CHAPTER V. SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE CHAPTER VI. WITNESS TO A MEETING CHAPTER VII. MR. AYLMORE CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT CHAPTER IX. THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS CHAPTER X. THE LEATHER BOX CHAPTER XI. MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED CHAPTER XII. THE NEW WITNESS CHAPTER XIII. UNDER SUSPICION CHAPTER XIV. THE SILVER TICKET CHAPTER XV. MARKET MILCASTER CHAPTER XVI. THE “YELLOW DRAGON” CHAPTER XVII. MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK CHAPTER XVIII. AN OLD NEWSPAPER CHAPTER XIX. THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY CHAPTER XX. MAITLAND _alias_ MARBURY CHAPTER XXI. ARRESTED CHAPTER XXII. THE BLANK PAST CHAPTER XXIII. MISS BAYLIS CHAPTER XXIV. MOTHER GUTCH CHAPTER XXV. REVELATIONS CHAPTER XXVI. STILL SILENT CHAPTER XXVII. MR. ELPHICK’S CHAMBERS CHAPTER XXVIII. OF PROVED IDENTITY CHAPTER XXIX. THE CLOSED DOORS CHAPTER XXX. REVELATION CHAPTER XXXI. THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER CHAPTER XXXII. THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN CHAPTER XXXIII. FORESTALLED CHAPTER XXXIV. THE WHIP HAND CHAPTER XXXV. MYERST EXPLAINS CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FINAL TELEGRAM CHAPTER ONE THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER As a rule, Spargo left the _Watchman_ office at two o’clock. The paper had then gone to press. There was nothing for him, recently promoted to a sub-editorship, to do after he had passed the column for which he was responsible; as a matter of fact he could have gone home before the machines began their clatter. But he generally hung about, trifling, until two o’clock came. On this occasion, the morning of the 22nd of June, 1912, he stopped longer than usual, chatting with Hacket, who had charge of the foreign news, and who began telling him about a telegram which had just come through from Durazzo. What Hacket had to tell was interesting: Spargo lingered to hear all about it, and to discuss it. Altogether it was well beyond half-past two when he went out of the office, unconsciously puffing away from him as he reached the threshold the last breath of the atmosphere in which he had spent his midnight. In Fleet Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the first grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly around the high silence of St. Paul’s.