He left the room and presently returned with a large mounted photograph which he laid on the table before his visitor. “There you are, sir,” he said. “Quite fresh, you see—it must be getting on to twenty years since that was taken out of the drawer that it’s been kept in. Now, that’s Maitland. And that’s Chamberlayne.” Spargo found himself looking at a group of men who stood against an ivy-covered wall in the stiff attitudes in which photographers arrange masses of sitters. He fixed his attention on the two figures indicated by Mr. Quarterpage, and saw two medium-heighted, rather sturdily-built men about whom there was nothing very specially noticeable. “Um!” he said, musingly. “Both bearded.” “Yes, they both wore beards—full beards,” assented Mr. Quarterpage. “And you see, they weren’t so much alike. But Maitland was a much darker man than Chamberlayne, and he had brown eyes, while Chamberlayne’s were rather a bright blue.” “The removal of a beard makes a great difference,” remarked Spargo. He looked at the photograph of Maitland in the group, comparing it with that of Marbury which he had taken from his pocket. “And twenty years makes a difference, too,” he added musingly. “To some people twenty years makes a vast difference, sir,” said the old gentleman. “To others it makes none—I haven’t changed much, they tell me, during the past twenty years. But I’ve known men change—age, almost beyond recognition!—in five years. It depends, sir, on what they go through.” Spargo suddenly laid aside the photographs, put his hands in his pockets, and looked steadfastly at Mr. Quarterpage. “Look here!” he said. “I’m going to tell you what I’m after, Mr. Quarterpage. I’m sure you’ve heard all about what’s known as the Middle Temple Murder—the Marbury case?” “Yes, I’ve read of it,” replied Mr. Quarterpage. “Have you read the accounts of it in my paper, the _Watchman_?” asked Spargo. Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. “I’ve only read one newspaper, sir, since I was a young man,” he replied. “I take the _Times_, sir—we always took it, aye, even in the days when newspapers were taxed.” “Very good,” said Spargo. “But perhaps I can tell you a little more than you’ve read, for I’ve been working up that case ever since the body of the man known as John Marbury was found. Now, if you’ll just give me your attention, I’ll tell you the whole story from that moment until—now.” And Spargo, briefly, succinctly, re-told the story of the Marbury case from the first instant of his own connection with it until the discovery of the silver ticket, and Mr. Quarterpage listened in rapt attention, nodding his head from time to time as the younger man made his points.