The Middle Temple Murder, Page 2

  CHAPTER TWO

  HIS FIRST BRIEF

  Spargo looked up at the inspector with a quick jerk of his head. "Iknow this man," he said.

  The inspector showed new interest.

  "What, Mr. Breton?" he asked.

  "Yes. I'm on the _Watchman_, you know, sub-editor. I took an articlefrom him the other day--article on 'Ideal Sites for Campers-Out.' Hecame to the office about it. So this was in the dead man's pocket?"

  "Found in a hole in his pocket, I understand: I wasn't present myself.It's not much, but it may afford some clue to identity."

  Spargo picked up the scrap of grey paper and looked closely at it. Itseemed to him to be the sort of paper that is found in hotels and inclubs; it had been torn roughly from the sheet.

  "What," he asked meditatively, "what will you do about getting this manidentified?"

  The inspector shrugged his shoulders.

  "Oh, usual thing, I suppose. There'll be publicity, you know. I supposeyou'll be doing a special account yourself, for your paper, eh? Thenthere'll be the others. And we shall put out the usual notice. Somebodywill come forward to identify--sure to. And--"

  A man came into the office--a stolid-faced, quiet-mannered, soberlyattired person, who might have been a respectable tradesman out for astroll, and who gave the inspector a sidelong nod as he approached hisdesk, at the same time extending his hand towards the scrap of paperwhich Spargo had just laid down.

  "I'll go along to King's Bench Walk and see Mr. Breton," he observed,looking at his watch. "It's just about ten--I daresay he'll be therenow."

  "I'm going there, too," remarked Spargo, but as if speaking to himself."Yes, I'll go there."

  The newcomer glanced at Spargo, and then at the inspector. Theinspector nodded at Spargo.

  "Journalist," he said, "Mr. Spargo of the _Watchman_. Mr. Spargo wasthere when the body was found. And he knows Mr. Breton." Then he noddedfrom Spargo to the stolid-faced person. "This is Detective-SergeantRathbury, from the Yard," he said to Spargo. "He's come to take chargeof this case."

  "Oh?" said Spargo blankly. "I see--what," he went on, with suddenabruptness, "what shall you do about Breton?"

  "Get him to come and look at the body," replied Rathbury. "He may knowthe man and he mayn't. Anyway, his name and address are here, aren'tthey?"

  "Come along," said Spargo. "I'll walk there with you."

  Spargo remained in a species of brown study all the way along TudorStreet; his companion also maintained silence in a fashion which showedthat he was by nature and custom a man of few words. It was not untilthe two were climbing the old balustrated staircase of the house inKing's Bench Walk in which Ronald Breton's chambers were somewheresituate that Spargo spoke.

  "Do you think that old chap was killed for what he may have had onhim?" he asked, suddenly turning on the detective.

  "I should like to know what he had on him before I answered thatquestion, Mr. Spargo," replied Rathbury, with a smile.

  "Yes," said Spargo, dreamily. "I suppose so. He might have had--nothingon him, eh?"

  The detective laughed, and pointed to a board on which names wereprinted.

  "We don't know anything yet, sir," he observed, "except that Mr. Bretonis on the fourth floor. By which I conclude that it isn't long since hewas eating his dinner."

  "Oh, he's young--he's quite young," said Spargo. "I should say he'sabout four-and-twenty. I've met him only--"

  At that moment the unmistakable sounds of girlish laughter came downthe staircase. Two girls seemed to be laughing--presently masculinelaughter mingled with the lighter feminine.

  "Seems to be studying law in very pleasant fashion up here, anyway,"said Rathbury. "Mr. Breton's chambers, too. And the door's open."

  The outer oak door of Ronald Breton's chambers stood thrown wide; theinner one was well ajar; through the opening thus made Spargo and thedetective obtained a full view of the interior of Mr. Ronald Breton'srooms. There, against a background of law books, bundles of papers tiedup with pink tape, and black-framed pictures of famous legalnotabilities, they saw a pretty, vivacious-eyed girl, who, perched on achair, wigged and gowned, and flourishing a mass of crisp paper, washaranguing an imaginary judge and jury, to the amusement of a young manwho had his back to the door, and of another girl who leantconfidentially against his shoulder.

  "I put it to you, gentlemen of the jury--I put it to you withconfidence, feeling that you must be, must necessarily be, some,perhaps brothers, perhaps husbands, and fathers, can you, on yourconsciences do my client the great wrong, the irreparable injury,the--the--"

  "Think of some more adjectives!" exclaimed the young man. "Hot andstrong 'uns--pile 'em up. That's what they like--they--Hullo!"

  This exclamation arose from the fact that at this point of theproceedings the detective rapped at the inner door, and then put hishead round its edge. Whereupon the young lady who was orating from thechair, jumped hastily down; the other young lady withdrew from theyoung man's protecting arm; there was a feminine giggle and a feminineswishing of skirts, and a hasty bolt into an inner room, and Mr. RonaldBreton came forward, blushing a little, to greet the interrupter.

  "Come in, come in!" he exclaimed hastily. "I--"

  Then he paused, catching sight of Spargo, and held out his hand with alook of surprise.

  "Oh--Mr. Spargo?" he said. "How do you do?--we--I--we were just havinga lark--I'm off to court in a few minutes. What can I do for you, Mr.Spargo?"

  He had backed to the inner door as he spoke, and he now closed it andturned again to the two men, looking from one to the other. Thedetective, on his part, was looking at the young barrister. He saw atall, slimly-built youth, of handsome features and engaging presence,perfectly groomed, and immaculately garbed, and having upon him ageneral air of well-to-do-ness, and he formed the impression from thesematters that Mr. Breton was one of those fortunate young men who maytake up a profession but are certainly not dependent upon it. He turnedand glanced at the journalist.

  "How do you do?" said Spargo slowly. "I--the fact is, I came here withMr. Rathbury. He--wants to see you. Detective-Sergeant Rathbury--of NewScotland Yard."

  Spargo pronounced this formal introduction as if he were repeating alesson. But he was watching the young barrister's face. And Bretonturned to the detective with a look of surprise.

  "Oh!" he said. "You wish--"

  Rathbury had been fumbling in his pocket for the scrap of grey paper,which he had carefully bestowed in a much-worn memorandum-book. "Iwished to ask a question, Mr. Breton," he said. "This morning, about aquarter to three, a man--elderly man--was found dead in Middle TempleLane, and there seems little doubt that he was murdered. Mr. Spargohere--he was present when the body was found."

  "Soon after," corrected Spargo. "A few minutes after."

  "When this body was examined at the mortuary," continued Rathbury, inhis matter-of-fact, business-like tones, "nothing was found that couldlead to identification. The man appears to have been robbed. There wasnothing whatever on him--but this bit of torn paper, which was found ina hole in the lining of his waistcoat pocket. It's got your name andaddress on it, Mr. Breton. See?"

  Ronald Breton took the scrap of paper and looked at it with knittedbrows.

  "By Jove!" he muttered. "So it has; that's queer. What's he like, thisman?"

  Rathbury glanced at a clock which stood on the mantelpiece.

  "Will you step round and take a look at him, Mr. Breton?" he said."It's close by."

  "Well--I--the fact is, I've got a case on, in Mr. Justice Borrow'scourt," Breton answered, also glancing at his clock. "But it won't becalled until after eleven. Will--"

  "Plenty of time, sir," said Rathbury; "it won't take you ten minutes togo round and back again--a look will do. You don't recognize thishandwriting, I suppose?"

  Breton still held the scrap of paper in his fingers. He looked at itagain, intently.

  "No!" he answered. "I don't. I don't know it at all--I can't think, ofcourse, who this man could be, to have m
y name and address. I thoughthe might have been some country solicitor, wanting my professionalservices, you know," he went on, with a shy smile at Spargo; "but,three--three o'clock in the morning, eh?"

  "The doctor," observed Rathbury, "the doctor thinks he had been deadabout two and a half hours."

  Breton turned to the inner door.

  "I'll--I'll just tell these ladies I'm going out for a quarter of anhour," he said. "They're going over to the court with me--I got myfirst brief yesterday," he went on with a boyish laugh, glancing rightand left at his visitors. "It's nothing much--small case--but Ipromised my fiancee and her sister that they should be present, youknow. A moment."

  He disappeared into the next room and came back a moment later in allthe glory of a new silk hat. Spargo, a young man who was never veryparticular about his dress, began to contrast his own attire with thebutterfly appearance of this youngster; he had been quick to noticethat the two girls who had whisked into the inner room had beensimilarly garbed in fine raiment, more characteristic of Mayfair thanof Fleet Street. Already he felt a strange curiosity about Breton, andabout the young ladies whom he heard talking behind the inner door.

  "Well, come on," said Breton. "Let's go straight there."

  The mortuary to which Rathbury led the way was cold, drab, repellent tothe general gay sense of the summer morning. Spargo shiveredinvoluntarily as he entered it and took a first glance around. But theyoung barrister showed no sign of feeling or concern; he looked quicklyabout him and stepped alertly to the side of the dead man, from whoseface the detective was turning back a cloth. He looked steadily andearnestly at the fixed features. Then he drew back, shaking his head.

  "No!" he said with decision. "Don't know him--don't know him from Adam.Never set eyes on him in my life, that I know of."

  Rathbury replaced the cloth.

  "I didn't suppose you would," he remarked. "Well, I expect we must goon the usual lines. Somebody'll identify him."

  "You say he was murdered?" said Breton. "Is that--certain?"

  Rathbury jerked his thumb at the corpse.

  "The back of his skull is smashed in," he said laconically. "The doctorsays he must have been struck down from behind--and a fearful blow,too. I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Breton."

  "Oh, all right!" said Breton. "Well, you know where to find me if youwant me. I shall be curious about this. Good-bye--good-bye, Mr.Spargo."

  The young barrister hurried away, and Rathbury turned to thejournalist.

  "I didn't expect anything from that," he remarked. "However, it was athing to be done. You are going to write about this for your paper?"

  Spargo nodded.

  "Well," continued Rathbury, "I've sent a man to Fiskie's, the hatter's,where that cap came from, you know. We may get a bit of informationfrom that quarter--it's possible. If you like to meet me here attwelve o'clock I'll tell you anything I've heard. Just now I'm going toget some breakfast."

  "I'll meet you here," said Spargo, "at twelve o'clock."

  He watched Rathbury go away round one corner; he himself suddenly setoff round another. He went to the _Watchman_ office, wrote a few lines,which he enclosed in an envelope for the day-editor, and went outagain. Somehow or other, his feet led him up Fleet Street, and beforehe quite realized what he was doing he found himself turning into theLaw Courts.