“About half-past eleven, or a little later, that evening, did you go along the Embankment, on the Temple Gardens side, for a walk?” “I did, sir. I’m a bad sleeper, and it’s a habit of mine to take a walk of half an hour or so last thing before I go to bed.” “How far did you walk?” “As far as Waterloo Bridge.” “Always on the Temple side?” “Just so, sir—straight along on that side.” “Very good. When you got close to Waterloo Bridge, did you meet anybody you knew?” “Yes.” “Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament.” Spargo could not avoid a glance at the two sisters. The elder’s head was averted; the younger was staring at the witness steadily. And Breton was nervously tapping his fingers on the crown of his shining silk hat. “Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament,” repeated the Counsel’s suave, clear tones. “Oh! And how did you come to recognize Mr. Aylmore, Member of Parliament?” “Well, sir, in this way. At home, I’m the secretary of our Liberal Ward Club, and last year we had a demonstration, and it fell to me to arrange with the principal speakers. I got Mr. Aylmore to come and speak, and naturally I met him several times, in London and in Scotland.” “So that you knew him quite well?” “Oh yes, sir.” “Do you see him now, Mr. Lyell?” Lyell smiled and half turned in the box. “Why, of course!” he answered. “There is Mr. Aylmore.” “There is Mr. Aylmore. Very good. Now we go on. You met Mr. Aylmore close to Waterloo Bridge? How close?” “Well, sir, to be exact, Mr. Aylmore came down the steps from the bridge on to the Embankment.” “Alone?” “No.” “Who was with him?” “A man, sir.” “Did you know the man?” “No. But seeing who he was with. I took a good look at him. I haven’t forgotten his face.” “You haven’t forgotten his face. Mr. Lyell—has anything recalled that face to you within this last day or two?” “Yes, sir, indeed!” “What?” “The picture of the man they say was murdered—John Marbury.” “You’re sure of that?” “I’m as certain, sir, as that my name’s what it is.” “It is your belief that Mr. Aylmore, when you met him, was accompanied by the man who, according to the photographs, was John Marbury?” “It is, sir!” “Very well. Now, having seen Mr. Aylmore and his companion, what did you do?” “Oh, I just turned and walked after them.” “You walked after them? They were going eastward, then?” “They were walking by the way I’d come.” “You followed them eastward?” “I did—I was going back to the hotel, you see.” “What were they doing?” “Talking uncommonly earnestly, sir.” “How far did you follow them?” “I followed them until they came to the Embankment lodge of Middle Temple Lane, sir.” “And then?” “Why, sir, they turned in there, and I went straight on to De Keyser’s, and to my bed.” There was a deeper silence in court at that moment than at any other period of the long day, and it grew still deeper when the quiet, keen voice put the next question.