husband gave vent to a species of growl.

"Nothing to notice," he muttered. "Her way of speaking--that's all."

"Well--why I said that was this," said the landlady. "He happened to
tell us, did Mr. Marbury, that he hadn't been in London for over twenty
years, and couldn't remember anything about it, him, he said, never
having known much about London at any time. And, of course, when he
went out so late and never came back, why, naturally, I thought
something had happened to him, and that there'd be enquiries made."

"Just so--just so!" said Rathbury. "So you would, ma'am--so you would.
Well, something has happened to him. He's dead. What's more, there's
strong reason to think he was murdered."

Mr. and Mrs. Walters received this announcement with proper surprise
and horror, and the landlord suggested a little refreshment to his
visitors. Spargo and Breton declined, on the ground that they had work
to do during the afternoon; Rathbury accepted it, evidently as a matter
of course.

"My respects," he said, lifting his glass. "Well, now, perhaps you'll
just tell me what you know of this man? I may as well tell you, Mr. and
Mrs. Walters, that he was found dead in Middle Temple Lane this
morning, at a quarter to three; that there wasn't anything on him but
his clothes and a scrap of paper which bore this gentleman's name and
address; that this gentleman knows nothing whatever of him, and that I
traced him here because he bought a cap at a West End hatter's
yesterday, and had it sent to your hotel."