Spargo smiled and shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I’ve no use for Charing Cross. They haven’t gone to Paris. That was all a blind. For the present let’s go back to your chambers. Then I’ll talk to you.” Once within Breton’s inner room, with the door closed upon them, Spargo dropped into an easy-chair and looked at the young barrister with earnest attention. “Breton!” he said. “I believe we’re coming in sight of land. You want to save your prospective father-in-law, don’t you?” “Of course!” growled Breton. “That goes without saying. But——” “But you may have to make some sacrifices in order to do it,” said Spargo. “You see——” “Sacrifices!” exclaimed Breton. “What——” “You may have to sacrifice some ideas—you may find that you’ll not be able to think as well of some people in the future as you have thought of them in the past. For instance—Mr. Elphick.” Breton’s face grew dark. “Speak plainly, Spargo!” he said. “It’s best with me.” “Very well,” replied Spargo. “Mr. Elphick, then, is in some way connected with this affair.” “You mean the—murder?” “I mean the murder. So is Cardlestone. Of that I’m now dead certain. And that’s why they’re off. I startled Elphick last night. It’s evident that he immediately communicated with Cardlestone, and that they made a rapid exit. Why?” “Why? That’s what I’m asking you! Why? Why? Why?” “Because they’re afraid of something coming out. And being afraid, their first instinct is to—run. They’ve run at the first alarm. Foolish—but instinctive.” Breton, who had flung himself into the elbow-chair at his desk, jumped to his feet and thumped his blotting-pad. “Spargo!” he exclaimed. “Are you telling me that you accuse my guardian and his friend, Mr. Cardlestone, of being—murderers?” “Nothing of the sort. I am accusing Mr. Elphick and Mr. Cardlestone of knowing more about the murder than they care to tell or want to tell. I am also accusing them, and especially your guardian, of knowing all about Maitland, alias Marbury. I made him confess last night that he knew this dead man to be John Maitland.” “You did!” “I did. And now, Breton, since it’s got to come out, we’ll have the truth. Pull yourself together—get your nerves ready, for you’ll have to stand a shock or two. But I know what I’m talking about—I can prove every word I’m going to say to you. And first let me ask you a few questions. Do you know anything about your parentage?” “Nothing—beyond what Mr. Elphick has told me.” “And what was that?” “That my parents were old friends of his, who died young, leaving me unprovided for, and that he took me up and looked after me.” “And he’s never given you any documentary evidence of any sort to prove the truth of that story?” “Never! I never questioned his statement. Why should I?” “You never remember anything of your childhood—I mean of any person who was particularly near you in your childhood?”