"Mrs. Webster," said Spargo, "is a lady of businesslike principles. And
what have you to tell?"

Mr. Webster looked into the crown of his hat, looked out of it, and
smiled knowingly.

"Well, sir," he continued, "Last night, my wife, she went out to a part
they call Clapham, to take her tea and supper with an old friend of
hers as lives there, and as they wanted to have a bit of woman-talk,
like, I didn't go. So thinks I to myself, I'll go and see this here
House of Commons. There was a neighbour of mine as had told me that all
you'd got to do was to tell the policeman at the door that you wanted
to see your own Member of Parliament. So when I got there I told 'em
that I wanted to see our M.P., Mr. Stonewood--you'll have heard tell of
him, no doubt; he knows me very well--and they passed me, and I wrote
out a ticket for him, and they told me to sit down while they found
him. So I sat down in a grand sort of hall where there were a rare lot
of people going and coming, and some fine pictures and images to look
at, and for a time I looked at them, and then I began to take a bit of
notice of the folk near at hand, waiting, you know, like myself. And as
sure as I'm a christened man, sir, the gentleman whose picture you've
got in your paper--him as was murdered--was sitting next to me! I knew
that picture as soon as I saw it this morning."

Spargo, who had been making unmeaning scribbles on a block of paper,
suddenly looked at his visitor.

"What time was that?" he asked.