"Glad to see you, Mr. Spargo," he said genially. "Take a seat, sir--I'm
all in confusion here--giving up business, you see. Yes, I called on
you. I think, having read the _Watchman_ account of that Marbury
affair, and having seen the murdered man's photograph in your columns,
that I can give you a bit of information."

"Material?" asked Spargo, tersely.

Mr. Criedir cocked one of his bright eyes at his visitor. He coughed
drily.

"That's for you to decide--when you've heard it," he said. "I should
say, considering everything, that it was material. Well, it's this--I
kept open until yesterday--everything as usual, you know--stock in the
window and so on--so that anybody who was passing would naturally have
thought that the business was going on, though as a matter of fact, I'm
retiring--retired," added Mr. Criedir with a laugh, "last night.
Now--but won't you take down what I've got to tell you?"

"I am taking it down," answered Spargo. "Every word. In my head."

Mr. Criedir laughed and rubbed his hands.

"Oh!" he said. "Ah, well, in my young days journalists used to pull out
pencil and notebook at the first opportunity. But you modern young
men--"

"Just so," agreed Spargo. "This information, now?"

"Well," said Mr. Criedir, "we'll go on then. Yesterday afternoon the