“Before today is out,” said Spargo confidently. “There is more magic in a thousand-pound reward than you fancy, Breton. I’ll have the history of that stick before midnight.” “How are you to tell that you won’t be imposed upon?” suggested Breton. “Anybody can say that he or she stole the stick.” “Whoever comes here with any tale of a stick will have to prove to me how he or she got the stick and what was done with the stick,” said Spargo. “I haven’t the least doubt that that stick was stolen or taken away from Aylmore’s rooms in Fountain Court, and that it got into the hands of—” “Yes, of whom?” “That’s what I want to know in some fashion. I’ve an idea, already. But I can afford to wait for definite information. I know one thing—when I get that information—as I shall—we shall be a long way on the road towards establishing Aylmore’s innocence.” Breton made no remark upon this. He was looking at Spargo with a meditative expression. “Spargo,” he said, suddenly, “do you think you’ll get that order for the opening of the grave at Market Milcaster?” “I was talking to the solicitors over the ’phone just now,” answered Spargo. “They’ve every confidence about it. In fact, it’s possible it may be made this afternoon. In that case, the opening will be made early tomorrow morning.” “Shall you go?” asked Breton. “Certainly. And you can go with me, if you like. Better keep in touch with us all day in case we hear. You ought to be there—you’re concerned.” “I should like to go—I will go,” said Breton. “And if that grave proves to be—empty—I’ll—I’ll tell you something.” Spargo looked up with sharp instinct. “You’ll tell me something? Something? What?” “Never mind—wait until we see if that coffin contains a dead body or lead and sawdust. If there’s no body there——” At that moment one of the senior messenger boys came in and approached Spargo. His countenance, usually subdued to an official stolidity, showed signs of something very like excitement. “There’s a man downstairs asking for you, Mr. Spargo,” he said. “He’s been hanging about a bit, sir,—seems very shy about coming up. He won’t say what he wants, and he won’t fill up a form, sir. Says all he wants is a word or two with you.” “Bring him up at once!” commanded Spargo. He turned to Breton when the boy had gone. “There!” he said, laughing. “This is the man about the stick—you see if it isn’t.” “You’re such a cock-sure chap, Spargo,” said Breton. “You’re always going on a straight line.” “Trying to, you mean,” retorted Spargo. “Well, stop here, and hear what this chap has to say: it’ll no doubt be amusing.”