"Promise me—promise me, Mr. Spargo, that you won't tell him until you have seen me in the morning!" he implored. "I beg you to promise me this."
Spargo hesitated, considering matters.
"Very well—I promise," he said.
"And you won't print it?" continued Elphick, still clinging to him. "Say you won't print it tonight?"
"I shall not print it tonight," answered Spargo. "That's certain."
Elphick released his grip on the young man's arm. "Come—at eleven tomorrow morning," he said, and drew back and closed the door.
Spargo ran quickly to the office and hurried up to his own room. And there, calmly seated in an easy-chair, smoking a cigar, and reading an evening newspaper, was Rathbury, unconcerned and outwardly as imperturbable as ever. He greeted Spargo with a careless nod and a smile.
"Well," he said, "how's things?"
Spargo, half-breathless, dropped into his desk-chair. "You didn't come here to tell me that," he said.
Rathbury laughed.
"No," he said, throwing the newspaper aside, "I didn't. I came to tell you my latest. You're at full liberty to stick it into your paper tonight: it may just as well be known."
"Well?" said Spargo.
Rathbury took his cigar out of his lips and yawned.
"Aylmore's identified," he said lazily.
Spargo sat up, sharply.
