identified?"

The inspector shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, usual thing, I suppose. There'll be publicity, you know. I suppose
you'll be doing a special account yourself, for your paper, eh? Then
there'll be the others. And we shall put out the usual notice. Somebody
will come forward to identify--sure to. And--"

A man came into the office--a stolid-faced, quiet-mannered, soberly
attired person, who might have been a respectable tradesman out for a
stroll, and who gave the inspector a sidelong nod as he approached his
desk, at the same time extending his hand towards the scrap of paper
which Spargo had just laid down.

"I'll go along to King's Bench Walk and see Mr. Breton," he observed,
looking at his watch. "It's just about ten--I daresay he'll be there
now."

"I'm going there, too," remarked Spargo, but as if speaking to himself.
"Yes, I'll go there."

The newcomer glanced at Spargo, and then at the inspector. The
inspector nodded at Spargo.

"Journalist," he said, "Mr. Spargo of the _Watchman_. Mr. Spargo was
there when the body was found. And he knows Mr. Breton." Then he nodded
from Spargo to the stolid-faced person. "This is Detective-Sergeant
Rathbury, from the Yard," he said to Spargo. "He's come to take charge
of this case."