“Well, sir,” he continued, “Last night, my wife, she went out to a part they call Clapham, to take her tea and supper with an old friend of hers as lives there, and as they wanted to have a bit of woman-talk, like, I didn’t go. So thinks I to myself, I’ll go and see this here House of Commons. There was a neighbour of mine as had told me that all you’d got to do was to tell the policeman at the door that you wanted to see your own Member of Parliament. So when I got there I told ’em that I wanted to see our M.P., Mr. Stonewood—you’ll have heard tell of him, no doubt; he knows me very well—and they passed me, and I wrote out a ticket for him, and they told me to sit down while they found him. So I sat down in a grand sort of hall where there were a rare lot of people going and coming, and some fine pictures and images to look at, and for a time I looked at them, and then I began to take a bit of notice of the folk near at hand, waiting, you know, like myself. And as sure as I’m a christened man, sir, the gentleman whose picture you’ve got in your paper—him as was murdered—was sitting next to me! I knew that picture as soon as I saw it this morning.” Spargo, who had been making unmeaning scribbles on a block of paper, suddenly looked at his visitor. “What time was that?” he asked. “It was between a quarter and half-past nine, sir,” answered Mr. Webster. “It might ha’ been twenty past—it might ha’ been twenty-five past.” “Go on, if you please,” said Spargo. “Well, sir, me and this here dead gentleman talked a bit. About what a long time it took to get a member to attend to you, and such-like. I made mention of the fact that I hadn’t been in there before. ‘Neither have I!’ he says, ‘I came in out of curiosity,’ he says, and then he laughed, sir—queer-like. And it was just after that that what I’m going to tell you about happened.” “Tell,” commanded Spargo. “Well, sir, there was a gentleman came along, down this grand hall that we were sitting in—a tall, handsome gentleman, with a grey beard. He’d no hat on, and he was carrying a lot of paper and documents in his hand, so I thought he was happen one of the members. And all of a sudden this here man at my side, he jumps up with a sort of start and an exclamation, and——” Spargo lifted his hand. He looked keenly at his visitor. “Now, you’re absolutely sure about what you heard him exclaim?” he asked. “Quite sure about it? Because I see you are going to tell us what he did exclaim.” “I’ll tell you naught but what I’m certain of, sir,” replied Webster. “What he said as he jumped up was ‘Good God!’ he says, sharp-like—and then he said a name, and I didn’t right catch it, but it sounded like Danesworth, or Painesworth, or something of that sort—one of them there, or very like ’em, at any rate. And then he rushed up to this here gentleman, and laid his hand on his arm—sudden-like.” “And—the gentleman?” asked Spargo, quietly.