“We’re taking that for granted,” said Spargo. “We guessed as much when we found you here. You’ll have ample opportunity for explanation, you know, later on.”
“I’ll explain now, if you care to hear,” said Myerst with another of his cynical laughs. “And if I do, I’ll tell you the truth. I know you’ve got an idea in your heads that isn’t favourable to me, but you’re utterly wrong, whatever you may think. Look here!—I’ll make you a fair offer. There are some cigars in my case there—give me one, and mix me a drink of that whisky—a good ’un—and I’ll tell you what I know about this matter. Come on!—anything’s better than sitting here doing nothing.”
The two young men looked at each other. Then Breton nodded. “Let him talk if he likes,” he said. “We’re not bound to believe him. And we may hear something that’s true. Give him his 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!”