The Rayner-Slade Amalgamation Part 20

"You did!" exclaimed Allerd.y.k.e. "Nay!"

"I recognized her," repeated Appleyard. "I said naught to you at the time, but I knew her well enough. As a matter of fact, I've known her for two years. She lives at the same boarding-house, the Pompadour Private Hotel, in Bayswater, that I live in. I see her--have been seeing her for two years--every day, morning and night. But I know her as Miss Slade."

"Miss?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Allerd.y.k.e.

"Miss--Miss Slade," answered Appleyard. He drew his chair nearer to Allerd.y.k.e's, and went on in a lower voice. "Now, then, pay attention, and I'll tell you all about it, and what I've done since I got your note yesterday morning."

He told Allerd.y.k.e the whole story of his endeavour to find out something about Rayner merely because Rayner seemed to be in Miss Slade's confidence, and because Miss Slade was certainly a woman of mystery. And Allerd.y.k.e listened as quietly and attentively as Appleyard had listened to him, nodding his head at all the important points, and in the end he slapped his manager's shoulder with an approving hand.

"Good--good!" he said. "Good, Ambler! That was a bit of right work, and hang me if I don't believe we shall find something out. But what's to be done? You know, if these two are in at it, they may slip. That 'ud never do!"

"I don't think there's any fear of that--yet," answered Appleyard. "The probability is that neither has any suspicion of being watched--the whole thing's so clever that they probably believe themselves safe. Of course, mind you, this man Rayner may be as innocent as you or I. But against her, on the facts of that photograph affair, there's a _prima facie_ case. Only--don't let's spoil things by undue haste or rashness. I've thought things out a good deal, and we can do a lot, you and me, before going to the police, though I don't think it 'ud do any harm to tell this man Chettle, supposing he were here--because his discovery of that photo is the real thing."

"What can we do, then?" asked Allerd.y.k.e.

"Make use of the two Gaffneys," answered Appleyard without hesitation.

"They're smart chaps---real keen 'uns. We want to find out who Rayner is; what his connection, if any, with Miss Slade, alias Mrs. Marlow, is; who she is, and why she goes under two names. That's all what you might call initial proceedings. What I propose is this--when you go back to your hotel, get Gaffney into your private sitting-room. You, of course, know him much better than I do, but from what bit I've seen of him I'm sure he's the sort of man one can trust. Tell him to get hold of that brother of his and bring him here at any hour you like to-morrow, and then--well, we can have a conference, and decide on some means of finding out more about Rayner and keeping an eye on him. For that sort of work I should say that other Gaffney's remarkably well cut out--he's a typical, sharp, knowing c.o.c.kney, with all his wits about him, and plenty of a.s.surance."

"It's detective work, you know, Ambler," said Allerd.y.k.e. "It needs a bit of more than ordinary cuteness."

"From my observation, I should say both those chaps are just cut for it,"

answered Appleyard, with a laugh. "What's more, they enjoy it. And when men enjoy what they're doing--"

"Why, they do it well," agreed Allerd.y.k.e, finis.h.i.+ng the sentence. "Aye, that's true enough. All right--I'll speak to Gaffney, when I go back. And look here--as you're so well known to this woman, Miss Slade or Mrs.

Marlow, whichever her name is, you'd better not show up at the Waldorf at any time in my company, eh?"

"Of course," said Appleyard. "You trust me for that! What we've got to do must be done as secretly as possible."

Allerd.y.k.e rose to go, but turned before he reached the door.

"There's one thing I'm uneasy about," he said. "If--I say if, of course--if these folks--I mean the lot that's behind this woman, for I can't believe that she's worked it all herself--have got those jewels, won't they want to clear out with them? Isn't delay dangerous?"

"Not such delay as I'm thinking of," answered Appleyard firmly. "She's cute enough, this lady, and if she made herself scarce just now, she'd know very well that it would excite suspicion. Don't let's spoil things by being too previous. We've got a pretty good watch on her, you know. I should know very quickly if she cleared out of the Pompadour; you'd know if she didn't turn up at Fullaway's. Wait a bit, Mr. Allerd.y.k.e; it's the best policy. You'll come here to-morrow?"

"Eleven o'clock in the morning," replied Allerd.y.k.e. "I'll fix it with Gaffney to-night."

He went back to the Waldorf, summoned Gaffney to his private room, and sent him to arrange matters with his brother. Gaffney accepted the commission with alacrity; his brother, he said, was just then out of a job, having lost a clerks.h.i.+p through the sudden bankruptcy of his employers; such a bit of business as that which Mr. Appleyard had entrusted to him was so much meat and drink to one of his tastes--in more ways than one.

"It's the sort of thing he likes, sir," remarked Gaffney, confidentially.

"He's always been a great hand at reading these detective tales, and to set him to watch anybody is like offering chickens to a n.i.g.g.e.r--he fair revels in it!"

"Well, there's plenty for him to revel in," observed Allerd.y.k.e grimly.

Plenty! he said to himself with a cynical laugh when Gaffney had left him--aye, plenty, and to spare. He spent the whole of that evening alone, turning every detail over in his own mind; he was still thinking, and speculating, and putting two and two together when he went to bed at eleven o'clock. And just as he was about to switch off his light a waiter knocked on his door.

"Gentleman downstairs, sir, very anxious to see you at once," he said, when Allerd.y.k.e opened it. "His card, sir."

Allerd.y.k.e gave one glance at the card--a plain bit of pasteboard on which one word had been hastily pencilled--

CHETTLE.

CHAPTER XX

NUMBER FIFTY-THREE

Chettle!--whom he had left only that morning in Hull, two hundred miles away, both of them agreed that the next step was still unseen, and that immediate action was yet problematical. Something had surely happened to bring Chettle up to town and to him.

"Show Mr. Chettle up here at once," he said to the waiter. "And here--bring a small decanter of whisky and a syphon of soda-water and gla.s.ses. Be sharp with 'em."

He pulled on a dressing-gown when the man had gone, and, tying its cord about his waist, went a step or two into the corridor to look out for his visitor. A few minutes elapsed; then the lift came up, and the waiter, killing two birds with one stone, appeared again, escorting the detective and carrying a tray. And Allerd.y.k.e, with a sly wink at Chettle, greeted him unconcernedly, ushered him into his room and chatted about nothing until the waiter had gone away. Then he turned on him eagerly.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Something, of course! Aught new?"

For answer Chettle thrust his hand inside his overcoat and brought out a small package, wrapped in cartridge paper, and sealed.

He began to break the seals and unwrap the covering.

"Well, it brought me up here--straight," he said. "I think I shall have to let our people at the yard know everything, Mr. Allerd.y.k.e. But I came to you first---I only got to King's Cross half an hour ago, and I drove on to you at once. Well see what you think before I decide on anything."

"What is it!" repeated Allerd.y.k.e, gazing with interest at the package.

"You've found something of fresh importance, eh!"

Chettle took the lid off a small box and produced Lydenberg's watch and postcard on which the appointment in the High Street had been made. He sat down at the table, laying his hand on the watch.

"After you left me this morning," he said, "I started puzzling and puzzling over what had been discovered, what had been done, whether there was more that I could do. I kept thinking things over all the morning, and half the afternoon. Then it suddenly struck me--there was one thing--that I'd never done and that ought to have been done--I don't know why I'd never thought of it till then--but I'd never had this photograph out of the watch. And so I went back to the police-station and got the watch and opened it, and--look there, Mr. Allerd.y.k.e!"

He had snapped open the case of the watch as he talked, and he now detached the photograph and turning it over, laid the reverse side down on the table by the postcard.

"Look at it!" he went on. "Do you see?--there's writing on it! You see what it says? 'This is J.A. Burn this when made use of.' You see?

And--it's the same handwriting as that on this card, making the appointment! Here, look at both for yourself--hold 'em closer to the light. Mr. Allerd.y.k.e--that was all written by the same hand, or I'm--no good!"

Allerd.y.k.e went close to the electric globe above his dressing-table, the photograph in one hand, the postcard in the other. He looked searchingly at both, brought them back, and laid them down again.

"No doubt of it, Chettle," he said. "No doubt of it! It doesn't need any expert to be certain sure of that. The same, identical fist, without a shadow of doubt. Well--what d'ye make of it? Here--have a drink."

He mixed a couple of drinks, pushed one gla.s.s to the detective, and took the other himself.

"Egad!" he muttered, after drinking. "Things are getting--hottish, anyway. As I say, what do you make of this? Of course, you've come to some conclusion?"

"Yes," answered Chettle, taking up his gla.s.s and silently bowing his acknowledgments. "I have! The only one I could come to. The man who sent this photograph to Lydenberg, to help him to identify your cousin at sight, is the man who afterwards lured Lydenberg into that part of Hull High Street, and shot him dead. In plain words, the master shot his man--when he'd done with him. Just as he poisoned the Frenchwoman--when he'd done with her. Mr. Allerd.y.k.e, I'm more than ever convinced that these two murders--Lydenberg's and the French maid's--were the work of one hand."

"Likely!" a.s.sented Allerd.y.k.e. "It's getting to look like it. But--whose?

That's the problem, Chettle. Well, I've done a bit since I got back this afternoon. You've had something to tell me--now I've something to tell you. I've found out who it was that James gave the photograph to!"