The Middle Temple Murder Read online

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE LEATHER BOX

  Whether Spargo was sanguine enough to expect that his staring headlinewould bring him information of the sort he wanted was a secret which hekept to himself. That a good many thousands of human beings must haveset eyes on John Marbury between the hours which Spargo set forth inthat headline was certain; the problem was--What particular owner orowners of a pair or of many pairs of those eyes would remember him? Whyshould they remember him? Walters and his wife had reason to rememberhim; Criedir had reason to remember him; so had Myerst; so had WilliamWebster. But between a quarter past three, when he left the London andUniversal Safe Deposit, and a quarter past nine, when he sat down byWebster's side in the lobby of the House of Commons, nobody seemed tohave any recollection of him except Mr. Fiskie, the hatter, and he onlyremembered him faintly, and because Marbury had bought a fashionablecloth cap at his shop. At any rate, by noon of that day, nobody hadcome forward with any recollection of him. He must have gone West fromseeing Myerst, because he bought his cap at Fiskie's; he musteventually have gone South-West, because he turned up at Westminster.But where else did he go? What did he do? To whom did he speak? Noanswer came to these questions.

  "That shows," observed young Mr. Ronald Breton, lazing an hour away inSpargo's room at the _Watchman_ at that particular hour which isneither noon nor afternoon, wherein even busy men do nothing, "thatshows how a chap can go about London as if he were merely an ant thathad strayed into another ant-heap than his own. Nobody notices."

  "You'd better go and read up a little elementary entomology, Breton,"said Spargo. "I don't know much about it myself, but I've a pretty goodidea that when an ant walks into the highways and byways of a colony towhich he doesn't belong he doesn't survive his intrusion by manyseconds."

  "Well, you know what I mean," said Breton. "London's an ant-heap, isn'tit? One human ant more or less doesn't count. This man Marbury musthave gone about a pretty tidy lot during those six hours. He'd ride ona 'bus--almost certain. He'd get into a taxi-cab--I think that's muchmore certain, because it would be a novelty to him. He'd want sometea--anyway, he'd be sure to want a drink, and he'd turn in somewhereto get one or the other. He'd buy things in shops--these Colonialsalways do. He'd go somewhere to get his dinner. He'd--but what's theuse of enumeration in this case?"

  "A mere piling up of platitudes," answered Spargo.

  "What I mean is," continued Breton, "that piles of people must haveseen him, and yet it's now hours and hours since your paper came outthis morning, and nobody's come forward to tell anything. And when youcome to think of it, why should they? Who'd remember an ordinary man ina grey tweed suit?"

  "'An ordinary man in a grey tweed suit,'" repeated Spargo. "Good line.You haven't any copyright in it, remember. It would make a goodcross-heading."

  Breton laughed. "You're a queer chap, Spargo," he said. "Seriously, doyou think you're getting any nearer anything?"

  "I'm getting nearer something with everything that's done," Spargoanswered. "You can't start on a business like this without evolvingsomething out of it, you know."

  "Well," said Breton, "to me there's not so much mystery in it. Mr.Aylmore's explained the reason why my address was found on the body;Criedir, the stamp-man, has explained--"

  Spargo suddenly looked up.

  "What?" he said sharply.

  "Why, the reason of Marbury's being found where he was found," repliedBreton. "Of course, I see it all! Marbury was mooning around FleetStreet; he slipped into Middle Temple Lane, late as it was, just to seewhere old Cardlestone hangs out, and he was set upon and done for. Thething's plain to me. The only thing now is to find who did it."

  "Yes, that's it," agreed Spargo. "That's it." He turned over the leavesof the diary which lay on his desk. "By the by," he said, looking upwith some interest, "the adjourned inquest is at eleven o'clocktomorrow morning. Are you going?"

  "I shall certainly go," answered Breton. "What's more, I'm going totake Miss Aylmore and her sister. As the gruesome details were over atthe first sitting, and as there'll be nothing but this new evidencetomorrow, and as they've never been in a coroner's court----"

  "Mr. Aylmore'll be the principal witness tomorrow," interrupted Spargo."I suppose he'll be able to tell a lot more than he told--me."

  Breton shrugged his shoulders.

  "I don't see that there's much more to tell," he said. "But," he added,with a sly laugh, "I suppose you want some more good copy, eh?"

  Spargo glanced at his watch, rose, and picked up his hat. "I'll tellyou what I want," he said. "I want to know who John Marbury was. Thatwould make good copy. Who he was--twenty--twenty-five--forty years ago.Eh?"

  "And you think Mr. Aylmore can tell?" asked Breton.

  "Mr. Aylmore," answered Spargo as they walked towards the door, "is theonly person I have met so far who has admitted that he knew JohnMarbury in the--past. But he didn't tell me--much. Perhaps he'll tellthe coroner and his jury--more. Now, I'm off Breton--I've anappointment."

  And leaving Breton to find his own way out, Spargo hurried away, jumpedinto a taxi-cab and speeded to the London and Universal Safe Deposit.At the corner of its building he found Rathbury awaiting him.

  "Well?" said Spargo, as he sprang out: "How is it?"

  "It's all right," answered Rathbury. "You can be present: I got thenecessary permission. As there are no relations known, there'll only beone or two officials and you, and the Safe Deposit people, and myself.Come on--it's about time."

  "It sounds," observed Spargo, "like an exhumation."

  Rathbury laughed. "Well, we're certainly going to dig up a dead man'ssecrets," he said. "At least, we may be going to do so. In my opinion,Mr. Spargo, we'll find some clue in this leather box."

  Spargo made no answer. They entered the office, to be shown into a roomwhere were already assembled Mr. Myerst, a gentleman who turned out tobe the chairman of the company, and the officials of whom Rathbury hadspoken. And in another moment Spargo heard the chairman explaining thatthe company possessed duplicate keys to all safes, and that the properauthorization having been received from the proper authorities, thosepresent would now proceed to the safe recently tenanted by the late Mr.John Marbury, and take from it the property which he himself haddeposited there, a small leather box, which they would afterwards bringto that room and cause to be opened in each other's presence.

  It seemed to Spargo that there was an unending unlocking of bolts andbars before he and his fellow-processionists came to the safe sorecently rented by the late Mr. John Marbury, now undoubtedly deceased.And at first sight of it, he saw that it was so small an affair that itseemed ludicrous to imagine that it could contain anything of anyimportance. In fact, it looked to be no more than a plain woodenlocker, one amongst many in a small strong room: it reminded Spargoirresistibly of the locker in which, in his school days, he had kepthis personal belongings and the jam tarts, sausage rolls, and hardbakesmuggled in from the tuck-shop. Marbury's name had been newly paintedupon it; the paint was scarcely dry. But when the wooden door--thefront door, as it were, of this temple of mystery, had been solemnlyopened by the chairman, a formidable door of steel was revealed, andexpectation still leapt in the bosoms of the beholders.

  "The duplicate key, Mr. Myerst, if you please," commanded the chairman,"the duplicate key!"

  Myerst, who was fully as solemn as his principal, produced acurious-looking key: the chairman lifted his hand as if he were aboutto christen a battleship: the steel door swung slowly back. And there,in a two-foot square cavity, lay the leather box.

  It struck Spargo as they filed back to the secretary's room that theprocession became more funereal-like than ever. First walked thechairman, abreast with the high official, who had brought the necessaryauthorization from the all-powerful quarter; then came Myerst carryingthe box: followed two other gentlemen, both legal lights, charged withwatching official and police interests; Rathbury and Spargo brought upthe rear. He whispered something of his notions to the detective;Rathbur
y nodded a comprehensive understanding.

  "Let's hope we're going to see--something!" he said.

  In the secretary's room a man waited who touched his forelockrespectfully as the heads of the procession entered. Myerst set the boxon the table: the man made a musical jingle of keys: the other membersof the procession gathered round.

  "As we naturally possess no key to this box," announced the chairman ingrave tones, "it becomes our duty to employ professional assistance inopening it. Jobson!"

  He waved a hand, and the man of the keys stepped forward with alacrity.He examined the lock of the box with a knowing eye; it was easy to seethat he was anxious to fall upon it. While he considered matters,Spargo looked at the box. It was pretty much what it had been describedto him as being; a small, square box of old cow-hide, very stronglymade, much worn and tarnished, fitted with a handle projecting from thelid, and having the appearance of having been hidden away somewhere formany a long day.

  There was a click, a spring: Jobson stepped back.

  "That's it, if you please, sir," he said.

  The chairman motioned to the high official.

  "If you would be good enough to open the box, sir," he said. "Our dutyis now concluded."

  As the high official laid his hand on the lid the other men gatheredround with craning necks and expectant eyes. The lid was lifted:somebody sighed deeply. And Spargo pushed his own head and eyes nearer.

  The box was empty!

  Empty, as anything that can be empty is empty! thought Spargo: therewas literally nothing in it. They were all staring into the interior ofa plain, time-worn little receptacle, lined out with old-fashionedchintz stuff, such as our Mid-Victorian fore-fathers were familiarwith, and containing--nothing.

  "God bless my soul!" exclaimed the chairman. "This is--dear me!--why,there is nothing in the box!"

  "That," remarked the high official, drily, "appears to be obvious."

  The chairman looked at the secretary.

  "I understood the box was valuable, Mr. Myerst," he said, with thehalf-injured air of a man who considers himself to have been robbed ofan exceptionally fine treat. "Valuable!"

  Myerst coughed.

  "I can only repeat what I have already said, Sir Benjamin," heanswered. "The--er late Mr. Marbury spoke of the deposit as being ofgreat value to him; he never permitted it out of his hand until heplaced it in the safe. He appeared to regard it as of the greatestvalue."

  "But we understand from the evidence of Mr. Criedir, given to the_Watchman_ newspaper, that it was full of papers and--and otherarticles," said the chairman. "Criedir saw papers in it about an hourbefore it was brought here."

  Myerst spread out his hands.

  "I can only repeat what I have said, Sir Benjamin," he answered. "Iknow nothing more."

  "But why should a man deposit an empty box?" began the chairman. "I--"

  The high official interposed.

  "That the box is empty is certain," he observed. "Did you ever handleit yourself, Mr. Myerst?"

  Myerst smiled in a superior fashion.

  "I have already observed, sir, that from the time the deceased enteredthis room until the moment he placed the box in the safe which herented, the box was never out of his hands," he replied.

  Then there was silence. At last the high official turned to thechairman.

  "Very well," he said. "We've made the enquiry. Rathbury, take the boxaway with you and lock it up at the Yard."

  So Spargo went out with Rathbury and the box; and saw excellent, ifmystifying, material for the article which had already become the dailyfeature of his paper.