“Go on!” he said. “Tell all about it, Spargo. Let’s hear every detail. I’ll tell you all I know after. But what I know’s nothing to that.” Spargo told him the whole story of his adventures at Market Milcaster, and the detective listened with rapt attention. “Yes,” he said at the end. “Yes—I don’t think there’s much doubt about that. Well, that clears up a lot, doesn’t it?” Spargo yawned. “Yes, a whole slate full is wiped off there,” he said. “I haven’t so much interest in Marbury, or Maitland now. My interest is all in Aylmore.” Rathbury nodded. “Yes,” he said. “The thing to find out is—who is Aylmore, or who was he, twenty years ago?” “Your people haven’t found anything out, then?” asked Spargo. “Nothing beyond the irreproachable history of Mr. Aylmore since he returned to this country, a very rich man, some ten years since,” answered Rathbury, smiling. “They’ve no previous dates to go on. What are you going to do next, Spargo?” “Seek out that Miss Baylis,” replied Spargo. “You think you could get something there?” asked Rathbury. “Look here!” said Spargo. “I don’t believe for a second Aylmore killed Marbury. I believe I shall get at the truth by following up what I call the Maitland trail. This Miss Baylis must know something—if she’s alive. Well, now I’m going to report at the office. Keep in touch with me, Rathbury.” He went on then to the _Watchman_ office, and as he got out of his taxi-cab at its door, another cab came up and set down Mr. Aylmore’s daughters. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO THE BLANK PAST Jessie Aylmore came forward to meet Spargo with ready confidence; the elder girl hung back diffidently. “May we speak to you?” said Jessie. “We have come on purpose to speak to you. Evelyn didn’t want to come, but I made her come.” Spargo shook hands silently with Evelyn Aylmore and motioned them both to follow him. He took them straight upstairs to his room and bestowed them in his easiest chairs before he addressed them. “I’ve only just got back to town,” he said abruptly. “I was sorry to hear the news about your father. That’s what’s brought you here, of course. But—I’m afraid I can’t do much.” “I told you that we had no right to trouble Mr. Spargo, Jessie,” said Evelyn Aylmore. “What can he do to help us?” Jessie shook her head impatiently. “The _Watchman’s_ about the most powerful paper in London, isn’t it?” she said. “And isn’t Mr. Spargo writing all these articles about the Marbury case? Mr. Spargo, you must help us!” Spargo sat down at his desk and began turning over the letters and papers which had accumulated during his absence. “To be absolutely frank with you,” he said, presently, “I don’t see how anybody’s going to help, so long as your father keeps up that mystery about the past.”