"That's the gentleman, sir," replied Webster. "Done to the life, that
is. No difficulty in recognizing of that, Mr. Spargo."

"You're absolutely sure?" demanded Spargo. "There are a lot of men in
the House of Commons, you know, who wear beards, and many of the beards
are grey."

But Webster wagged his head.

"That's him, sir!" he repeated. "I'm as sure of that as I am that my
name's William Webster. That's the man I saw talking to him whose
picture you've got in your paper. Can't say no more, sir."

"Very good," said Spargo. "I'm much obliged to you. I'll see Mr.
Aylmore. Leave me your address in London, Mr. Webster. How long do you
remain in town?"

"My address is the Beachcroft Hotel, Bloomsbury, sir, and I shall be
there for another week," answered the farmer. "Hope I've been of some
use, Mr. Spargo. As I says to my wife----"

Spargo cut his visitor short in polite fashion and bowed him out. He
turned to Breton, who still stood staring at the album of portraits.

"There!--what did I tell you?" he said. "Didn't I say I should get some
news? There it is."

Breton nodded his head. He seemed thoughtful.

"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, I say, Spargo!"