The old man ran the tip of his finger down the list of names.
“There it is!” he said. “John Maitland.”
Spargo bent over the fine writing.
“Yes, John Maitland,” he observed. “And who was John Maitland?”
Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. He turned to another of the many drawers in an ancient bureau, and began to search amongst a mass of old newspapers, carefully sorted into small bundles and tied up.
“If you had lived in Market Milcaster one-and-twenty years ago, Mr. Spargo,” he said, “you would have known who John Maitland was. For some time, sir, he was the best-known man in the place—aye, and in this corner of the world. But—aye, here it is—the newspaper of October 5th, 1891. Now, Mr. Spargo, you’ll find in this old newspaper who John Maitland was, and all about him. Now, I’ll tell you what to do. I’ve just got to go into my office for an hour to talk the day’s business over with my son—you take this newspaper out into the garden there with one of these cigars, and read what’ll you find in it, and when you’ve read that we’ll have some more talk.”
Spargo carried the old newspaper into the sunlit garden.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AN OLD NEWSPAPER
As soon as Spargo unfolded the paper he saw what he wanted on the middle page, headed in two lines of big capitals. He lighted a cigar and settled down to read.
“MARKET MILCASTER QUARTER SESSIONS
“TRIAL OF JOHN MAITLAND