“Very good,” said Spargo. “I’m much obliged to you. I’ll see Mr. Aylmore. Leave me your address in London, Mr. Webster. How long do you remain in town?”
“My address is the Beachcroft Hotel, Bloomsbury, sir, and I shall be there for another week,” answered the farmer. “Hope I’ve been of some use, Mr. Spargo. As I says to my wife——”
Spargo cut his visitor short in polite fashion and bowed him out. He turned to Breton, who still stood staring at the album of portraits.
“There!—what did I tell you?” he said. “Didn’t I say I should get some news? There it is.”
Breton nodded his head. He seemed thoughtful.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, I say, Spargo!”
“Well?”
“Mr. Aylmore is my prospective father-in-law, you know.”
“Quite aware of it. Didn’t you introduce me to his daughters—only yesterday?”
“But—how did you know they were his daughters?”