Old Elphick lifted his head and shook it; he was plainly on the verge of tears; as for Cardlestone, it was evident that his nerve was completely gone. And Breton pointed Spargo to an old corner cupboard.
“Spargo,” he said, “I’m pretty sure you’ll find whisky in there. Give them both a stiff dose: they’ve broken up. Now, guardian,” he continued, when Spargo had carried out this order, “what was he after? Shall I suggest it? Was it—blackmail?”
Cardlestone began to whimper; Elphick nodded his head. “Yes, yes!” he muttered. “Blackmail! That was it—blackmail. He—he got money—papers—from us. They’re on him.”
Breton turned on the captive with a look of contempt.
“I thought as much, Mr. Myerst,” he said. “Spargo, let’s see what he has on him.”
Spargo began to search the prisoner’s pockets. He laid out everything on the table as he found it. It was plain that Myerst had contemplated some sort of flight or a long, long journey. There was a quantity of loose gold; a number of bank-notes of the more easily negotiated denominations; various foreign securities, realizable in Paris. And there was an open cheque, signed by Cardlestone for ten thousand pounds, and another, with Elphick’s name at the foot, also open, for half that amount. Breton examined all these matters as Spargo handed them out. He turned to old Elphick.
“Guardian,” he said, “why have you or Mr. Cardlestone given this man these cheques and securities? What hold has he on you?”
Old Cardlestone began to whimper afresh; Elphick turned a troubled face on his ward.
“He—he threatened to accuse us of the murder of Marbury!” he faltered. “We—we didn’t see that we had a chance.”
“What does he know of the murder of Marbury and of you in connection with it?” demanded Breton. “Come—tell me the truth now.”