"Oh?" said Spargo blankly. "I see--what," he went on, with sudden
abruptness, "what shall you do about Breton?"

"Get him to come and look at the body," replied Rathbury. "He may know
the man and he mayn't. Anyway, his name and address are here, aren't
they?"

"Come along," said Spargo. "I'll walk there with you."

Spargo remained in a species of brown study all the way along Tudor
Street; his companion also maintained silence in a fashion which showed
that he was by nature and custom a man of few words. It was not until
the two were climbing the old balustrated staircase of the house in
King's Bench Walk in which Ronald Breton's chambers were somewhere
situate that Spargo spoke.

"Do you think that old chap was killed for what he may have had on
him?" he asked, suddenly turning on the detective.

"I should like to know what he had on him before I answered that
question, Mr. Spargo," replied Rathbury, with a smile.

"Yes," said Spargo, dreamily. "I suppose so. He might have had--nothing
on him, eh?"

The detective laughed, and pointed to a board on which names were
printed.

"We don't know anything yet, sir," he observed, "except that Mr. Breton