“Nothing much going on here this morning,” he whispered behind a raised hand. “But there’s a nice breach case in number five—get you three good seats there if you like.”
Spargo declined this tempting offer, and went back to his charges. He had decided by that time that Miss Aylmore was about twenty-three, and her sister about eighteen; he also thought that young Breton was a lucky dog to be in possession of such a charming future wife and an equally charming sister-in-law. And he dropped into a seat at Miss Jessie Aylmore’s side, and looked around him as if he were much awed by his surroundings.
“I suppose one can talk until the judge enters?” he whispered. “Is this really Mr. Breton’s first case?”
“His very first—all on his own responsibility, anyway,” replied Spargo’s companion, smiling. “And he’s very nervous—and so’s my sister. Aren’t you, now, Evelyn?”
Evelyn Aylmore looked at Spargo, and smiled quietly.
“I suppose one’s always nervous about first appearances,” she said. “However, I think Ronald’s got plenty of confidence, and, as he says, it’s not much of a case: it isn’t even a jury case. I’m afraid you’ll find it dull, Mr. Spargo—it’s only something about a promissory note.”
“Oh, I’m all right, thank you,” replied Spargo, unconsciously falling back on a favourite formula. “I always like to hear lawyers—they manage to say such a lot about—about—”
“About nothing,” said Jessie Aylmore. “But there—so do gentlemen who write for the papers, don’t they?”
Spargo was about to admit that there was a good deal to be said on that point when Miss Aylmore suddenly drew her sister’s attention to a man who had just entered the well of the court.
“Look, Jessie!” she observed. “There’s Mr. Elphick!”
Spargo looked down at the person indicated: an elderly, large-faced, smooth-shaven man, a little inclined to stoutness, who, wigged and gowned, was slowly making his way to a corner seat just outside that charmed inner sanctum wherein only King’s Counsel are permitted to sit. He dropped into this in a fashion which showed that he was one of those men who loved personal comfort; he bestowed his plump person at the most convenient angle and fitting a monocle in his right eye, glanced around him. There were a few of his professional brethren in his vicinity; there were half a dozen solicitors and their clerks in conversation with one or other of them; there were court officials. But the gentleman of the monocle swept all these with an indifferent look and cast his eyes upward until he caught sight of the two girls. Thereupon he made a most gracious bow in their direction; his broad face beamed in a genial smile, and he waved a white hand.
“Do you know Mr. Elphick, Mr. Spargo?” enquired the younger Miss Aylmore.
“I rather think I’ve seen him, somewhere about the Temple,” answered Spargo. “In fact, I’m sure I have.”
“His chambers are in Paper Buildings,” said Jessie. “Sometimes he gives tea-parties in them. He is Ronald’s guardian, and preceptor, and mentor, and all that, and I suppose he’s dropped into this court to hear how his pupil goes on.”
“Here is Ronald,” whispered Miss Aylmore.
“And here,” said her sister, “is his lordship, looking very cross. Now, Mr. Spargo, you’re in for it.”
Spargo, to tell the truth, paid little attention to what went on beneath him. The case which young Breton presently opened was a commercial one, involving certain rights and properties in a promissory note; it seemed to the journalist that Breton dealt with it very well, showing himself master of the financial details, and speaking with readiness and assurance. He was much more interested in his companions, and especially in the younger one, and he was meditating on how he could improve his further acquaintance when he awoke to the fact that the defence, realizing that it stood no chance, had agreed to withdraw, and that Mr. Justice Borrow was already giving judgment in Ronald Breton’s favour.
In another minute he was walking out of the gallery in rear of the two sisters.
“Very good—very good, indeed,” he said, absentmindedly. “I thought he put his facts very clearly and concisely.”
Downstairs, in the corridor, Ronald Breton was talking to Mr. Elphick. He pointed a finger at Spargo as the latter came up with the girls: Spargo gathered that Breton was speaking of the murder and of his, Spargo’s, connection with it. And directly they approached, he spoke.
“This is Mr. Spargo, subeditor of the Watchman.” Breton said. “Mr. Elphick—Mr. Spargo. I was just telling Mr. Elphick, Spargo, that you saw this poor man soon after he was found.”
Spargo, glancing at Mr. Elphick, saw that he was deeply interested. The elderly barrister took him—literally—by the buttonhole.
“My dear sir!” he said. “You—saw this poor fellow? Lying dead—in the third entry down Middle Temple Lane? The third entry, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Spargo, simply. “I saw him. It was the third entry.”
“Singular!” said Mr. Elphick, musingly. “I know a man who lives in that house. In fact, I visited him last night, and did not leave until nearly midnight. And this unfortunate man had Mr. Ronald Breton’s name and address in his pocket?”
Spargo nodded. He looked at Breton, and pulled out his watch. Just then he had no idea of playing the part of informant to Mr. Elphick.
“Yes, that’s so,” he answered shortly. Then, looking at Breton significantly, he added, “If you can give me those few minutes, now—?”
“Yes—yes!” responded Ronald Breton, nodding. “I understand. Evelyn—I’ll leave you and Jessie to Mr. Elphick; I must go.”
Mr. Elphick seized Spargo once more.
“My dear sir!” he said, eagerly. “Do you—do you think I could possibly see—the body?”
“It’s at the mortuary,” answered Spargo. “I don’t know what their regulations are.”
Then he escaped with Breton. They had crossed Fleet Street and were in the quieter shades of the Temple before Spargo spoke.
“About what I wanted to say to you,” he said at last. “It was—this. I—well, I’ve always wanted, as
