The Middle Temple Murder

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Middle Temple Murder, The

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Middle Temple Murder, by J.S. Fletcher This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Middle Temple Murder
Author: J.S. Fletcher
Release Date: December 3, 2003 [EBook #10373]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER
BY
J. S. FLETCHER
1919

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I
THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER
II HIS FIRST BRIEF
III THE CLUE OF THE CAP
IV THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL
V SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE
VI WITNESS TO A MEETING
VII MR. AYLMORE
VIII THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT
IX THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS
X THE LEATHER BOX
XI MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED
XII THE NEW WITNESS
XIII UNDER SUSPICION
XIV THE SILVER TICKET
XV MARKET MILCASTER
XVI THE "YELLOW DRAGON"
XVII MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK
XVIII AN OLD NEWSPAPER
XIX THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY
XX MAITLAND alias MARBURY
XXI ARRESTED
XXII THE BLANK PAST
XXIII MISS BAYLIS
XXIV MOTHER GUTCH
XXV REVELATIONS
XXVI STILL SILENT
XXVII MR. ELPHICK'S CHAMBERS
XXVIII OF PROVED IDENTITY
XXIX THE CLOSED DOORS
XXX REVELATION
XXXI THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER
XXXII THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN
XXXIII FORESTALLED
XXXIV THE WHIP HAND
XXXV MYERST EXPLAINS
XXXVI THE FINAL TELEGRAM

CHAPTER ONE
THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER
As a rule, Spargo left the Watchman office at two o'clock. The paper had then gone to press. There was nothing for him, recently promoted to a sub-editorship, to do after he had passed the column for which he was responsible; as a matter of fact he could have gone home before the machines began their clatter. But he generally hung about, trifling, until two o'clock came. On this occasion, the morning of the 22nd of June, 1912, he stopped longer than usual, chatting with Hacket, who had charge of the foreign news, and who began telling him about a telegram which had just come through from Durazzo. What Hacket had to tell was interesting: Spargo lingered to hear all about it, and to discuss it. Altogether it was well beyond half-past two when he went out of the office, unconsciously puffing away from him as he reached the threshold the last breath of the atmosphere in which he had spent his midnight. In Fleet Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the first grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly around the high silence of St. Paul's.
Spargo lived in Bloomsbury, on the west side of Russell Square. Every night and every morning he walked to and from the Watchman office by the same route--Southampton Row, Kingsway, the Strand, Fleet Street. He came to know several faces, especially amongst the police; he formed the habit of exchanging greetings with various officers whom he encountered at regular points as he went slowly homewards, smoking his pipe. And on this morning, as he drew near to Middle Temple Lane, he saw a policeman whom he knew, one Driscoll, standing at the entrance, looking about him. Further away another policeman appeared, sauntering. Driscoll raised an arm and signalled; then, turning, he saw Spargo. He moved a step or two towards him. Spargo saw news in his face.
"What is it?" asked Spargo.
Driscoll jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the partly open door of the lane. Within, Spargo saw a man hastily donning a waistcoat and jacket.
"He says," answered Driscoll, "him, there--the porter--that there's a man lying in one of them entries down the lane, and he thinks he's dead. Likewise, he thinks he's murdered."
Spargo echoed the word.
"But what makes him think that?" he asked, peeping with curiosity beyond Driscoll's burly form. "Why?"
"He says there's blood about him," answered Driscoll. He turned and glanced at the oncoming constable, and then turned again to Spargo. "You're a newspaper man, sir?" he suggested.
"I am," replied Spargo.
"You'd better walk down with us," said Driscoll, with a grin. "There'll be something to write pieces in the paper about. At least, there may be." Spargo made no answer. He continued to look down the lane, wondering what secret it held, until the other policeman came up. At the same moment the porter, now fully clothed, came out.
"Come on!" he said shortly. "I'll show you."
Driscoll murmured a word or two to the newly-arrived constable, and then turned to the porter.
"How came you to find him, then?" he asked
The porter jerked his head at the door which they were leaving.
"I heard that door slam," he replied, irritably, as if the fact which he mentioned caused him offence. "I know I did! So I got up to look around. Then--well, I saw that!"
He raised a hand, pointing down the lane. The three men followed his outstretched finger. And Spargo then saw a man's foot, booted, grey-socked, protruding from an entry on the left hand.
"Sticking out there, just as