s cigar and his drink."

Myerst took a stiff pull at the contents of the tumbler which Spargo
presently set before him. He laughed as he inhaled the first fumes of
his cigar.

"As it happens, you'll hear nothing but the truth," he observed. "Now
that things are as they are, there's no reason why I shouldn't tell the
truth. The fact is, I've nothing to fear. You can't give me in charge,
for it so happens that I've got a power of attorney from these two old
chaps inside there to act for them in regard to the money they
entrusted me with. It's in an inside pocket of that letter-case, and if
you look at it, Breton, you'll see it's in order. I'm not even going to
dare you to interfere with or destroy it--you're a barrister, and
you'll respect the law. But that's a fact--and if anybody's got a case
against anybody, I have against you two for assault and illegal
detention. But I'm not a vindictive man, and----"

Breton took up Myerst's letter-case and examined its contents. And
presently he turned to Spargo.

"He's right!" he whispered. "This is quite in order." He turned to
Myerst. "All the same," he said, addressing him, "we shan't release
you, because we believe you're concerned in the murder of John Marbury.
We're justified in holding you on that account."

"All right, my young friend," said Myerst. "Have your own stupid way.
But I said I'd tell you the plain truth. Well, the plain truth is that
I know no more of the absolute murder of your father than I know of
what is going on in Timbuctoo at this moment! I do not know who killed
John Maitland. That's a fact! It may have been the old man in there
who's already at his own last gasp, or it mayn't. I tell you I don't
know--though, like you, Spargo, I've tried hard to find out. That's the
truth--I do not know."

"You expect us to believe that?" exclaimed Breton incredulously.

"Believe it or not, as you like--it's the truth," answered Myerst.
"Now, look here--I said nobody knew as much of this affair as I know,
and that's true also. And here's the truth of what I know. The old man
in that room, whom you know as Nicholas Cardlestone, is in reality
Chamberlayne, the stockbroker, of Market Milcaster, whose name was so
freely mentioned when your father was tried there. That's another
fact!"

"How," asked Breton, sternly, "can you prove it? How do you know it?"

"Because," replied Myerst, with a cunning grin, "I helped to carry out
his mock death and burial--I was a so