g. And remember, if that grave's empty----"

"If that grave's empty," said Breton, "I'll tell you--a good deal."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN

There travelled down together to Market Milcaster late that afternoon,
Spargo, Breton, the officials from the Home Office, entrusted with the
order for the opening of the Chamberlayne grave, and a solicitor acting
on behalf of the proprietor of the _Watchman_. It was late in the
evening when they reached the little town, but Spargo, having looked in
at the parlour of the "Yellow Dragon" and ascertained that Mr.
Quarterpage had only just gone home, took Breton across the street to
the old gentleman's house. Mr. Quarterpage himself came to the door,
and recognized Spargo immediately. Nothing would satisfy him but that
the two should go in; his family, he said, had just retired, but he
himself was going to take a final nightcap and a cigar, and they must
share it.

"For a few minutes only then, Mr. Quarterpage," said Spargo as they
followed the old man into his dining-room. "We have to be up at
daybreak. And--possibly--you, too, would like to be up just as early."

Mr. Quarterpage looked an enquiry over the top of a decanter which he
was handling.

"At daybreak?" he exclaimed.

"The fact is," said Spargo, "that grave of Chamberlayne's is going to
be opened at daybreak. We have managed to get an order from the Home
Secretary for the exhumation of Chamberlayne's body: the officials in
charge of it have come down in the same train with us; we're all
staying across there at the 'Dragon.' The officials have gone to make
the proper arrangements with your authorities. It will be at daybreak,
or as near it as can conveniently be managed. And I suppose, now that
you know of it, you'll be there?"

"God bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. "You've really done that!
Well, well, so we shall know the truth at last, after all these years.
You're a very wonderful young man, Mr. Spargo, upon my word. And this
other young gentleman?"

Spargo looked at Breton, who had already given him permission to speak.
"Mr. Quarterpage," he said, "this young gentleman is, without doubt,
John Maitland's son. He's the young barrister, Mr. Ronald Breton, that
I told you of, but there's no doubt about his parentage. And I'm sure
you'll shake hands with him and wish him well."

Mr. Quarterpage set down decanter and glass and hastened to give Breton
his hand.

"My dear young s