“Well, now, to show you what a good memory I have,” he said, “I’ll tell you of something that occurred across there at the ‘Dragon’ only a few months before the Maitland affair came out. There were some of us in there one evening, and, for a rare thing, Maitland came in with Chamberlayne. Chamberlayne happened to remark that he was going up to town next day—he was always to and fro—and we got talking about London. And Maitland said in course of conversation, that he believed he was about the only man of his age in England—and, of course, he meant of his class and means—who’d never even seen London! And I don’t think he ever went there between that time and his trial: in fact, I’m sure he didn’t, for if he had, I should have heard of it.” “Well, that’s queer,” remarked Spargo. “It’s very queer. For I’m certain Maitland and Marbury are one and the same person. My theory about that old leather box is that Maitland had that carefully planted before his arrest; that he dug it up when he came put of Dartmoor; that he took it off to Australia with him; that he brought it back with him; and that, of course, the silver ticket and the photograph had been in it all these years. Now——” At that moment the door of the library was opened, and a parlourmaid looked in at her master. “There’s the boots from the ‘Dragon’ at the front door, sir,” she said. “He’s brought two telegrams across from there for Mr. Spargo, thinking he might like to have them at once.” CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ARRESTED Spargo hurried out to the hall, took the two telegrams from the boots of the “Dragon,” and, tearing open the envelopes, read the messages hastily. He went back to Mr. Quarterpage. “Here’s important news,” he said as he closed the library door and resumed his seat. “I’ll read these telegrams to you, sir, and then we can discuss them in the light of what we’ve been talking about this morning. The first is from our office. I told you we sent over to Australia for a full report about Marbury at the place he said he hailed from—Coolumbidgee. That report’s just reached the _Watchman_, and they’ve wired it on to me. It’s from the chief of police at Coolumbidgee to the editor of the _Watchman_, London:—