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Myerst paused, to take a pull at his glass, and to look at the two amazed listeners with a smile of conscious triumph.
"In the hands of Cardlestone," he repeated. "Now, what did I argue from that? Why, of course, that Maitland had been to Cardlestone's rooms that night. Wasn't he found lying dead at the foot of Cardlestone's stairs? Aye-but who found him? Not the porter-not the police-not you, Master Spargo, with all your cleverness. The man who found Maitland lying dead there that night was-I!"