“That’s old Cardlestone,” whispered Breton. “He’s always irascible, and I don’t suppose we’ll get anything out of him. Mr. Cardlestone,” he continued, making his way up to the old gentleman who was now retreating up the stone steps, brandishing an umbrella as ancient as himself. “I was just coming to see you, sir. This is Mr. Spargo, a journalist, who is much interested in this murder. He——”
“I know nothing about the murder, my dear sir!” exclaimed Mr. Cardlestone. “And I never talk to journalists—a pack of busybodies, sir, saving your presence. I am not aware that any murder has been committed, and I object to my doorway being filled by a pack of office boys and street loungers. Murder indeed! I suppose the man fell down these steps and broke his neck—drunk, most likely.”
He opened his outer door as he spoke, and Breton, with a reassuring smile and a nod at Spargo, followed him into his chambers on the first landing, motioning the journalist to keep at their heels.
“Mr. Elphick tells me that he was with you until a late hour last evening, Mr. Cardlestone,” he said. “Of course, neither of you heard anything suspicious?”
“What should we hear that was suspicious in the Temple, sir?” demanded Mr. Cardlestone, angrily. “I hope the Temple is free from that sort of thing, young Mr. Breton. Your respected guardian and myself had a quiet evening on our usual peaceful pursuits, and when he went away all was as quiet as the grave, sir. What may have gone on in the chambers above and around me I know not! Fortunately, our walls are thick, sir—substantial. I say, sir, the man probably fell down and broke his neck. What he was doing here, I do not presume to say.”
“Well, it’s guess, you know, Mr. Cardlestone,” remarked Breton, again winking at Spargo. “But all that was found on this man was a scrap of paper on which my name and address were written. That’s practically all that was known of him, except that he’d just arrived from Australia.”
Mr. Cardlestone suddenly turned on the young barrister with a sharp, acute glance.
“Eh?” he exclaimed. “What’s this? You say this man had your name and address on him, young Breton!—yours? And that he came from—Australia?”
“That’s so,” answered Breton. “That’s all that’s known.”
Mr. Cardlestone put aside his umbrella, produced a bandanna handkerchief of strong colours, and blew his nose in a reflective fashion.