"Well?"

"Mr. Aylmore is my prospective father-in-law, you know."

"Quite aware of it. Didn't you introduce me to his daughters--only
yesterday?"

"But--how did you know they were his daughters?"

Spargo laughed as he sat down to his desk.

"Instinct--intuition," he answered. "However, never mind that, just
now. Well--I've found something out. Marbury--if that is the dead
man's real name, and anyway, it's all we know him by--was in the
company of Mr. Aylmore that night. Good!"

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Breton.

"Do? See Mr. Aylmore, of course."

He was turning over the leaves of a telephone address-book; one hand
had already picked up the mouthpiece of the instrument on his desk.

"Look here," said Breton. "I know where Mr. Aylmore is always to be
found at twelve o'clock. At the A. and P.--the Atlantic and Pacific
Club, you know, in St. James's. If you like, I'll go with you."

Spargo glanced at the clock and laid down the telephone.