his head and muttered a few emphatic words half aloud, regardless of
whoever might overhear them.

"I wish to Heaven I'd a right good, hard-headed Yorkshireman to talk
to!" he said. "A chap with some gumption about him! These Cockneys and
Americans are all very well in their way, but--"

Then he pulled himself up sharply. An idea, a name, had flashed into his
mental field of vision as if sent in answer to his prayer. And still
regardless of bystanders he slapped his thigh delightedly.

"Ambler Appleyard!" he exclaimed. "The very man! Here, you!"

The last two words were addressed to a taxi-cab driver whose car stood at
the head of the line by the Gaiety Theatre. Allerdyke crossed from the
pavement and jumped in.

"Run down to this end of Gresham Street," he said. "Go quick as you can."

He wondered as he sped along the crowded London streets why he had not
thought of Ambler Appleyard before. Ambler Appleyard was the manager of
his own London warehouse, a smart, clever, pushing young Bradford man
who had been in charge of the London business of Allerdyke and
Partners, Limited, for the last three years. He had come to London with
his brains already sharpened--three years of business life in the
Metropolis had made them all the sharper. Allerdyke rubbed his hands
with satisfaction. Exchange of confidence with a fellow-Yorkshireman
was the very thing he wanted.

He got out of his cab at the Aldersgate end of Gresham Street, and walked
quickly along until he came to a highly polished brass plate on which his
own name was deeply engraven. Running up a few steps into a warehouse
stored with neat packages of dress goods, he encountered a couple of
warehousemen engaged in sorting and classifying a consignment of fabrics
just arrived from Bradford. Allerdyke, whose visits to his London
warehouse were fairly frequent, and usually without notice, nodded
affably to both and walked across the floor to an inner office. He opened
the door without ceremony, closed it carefully behind him, and stepping
forward to the occupant of the room, who sat busily writing at a desk,
with his back to the entrant, and continued to write without moving or
looking round, gave him a resounding smack on the shoulder.

"The very man I want, Ambler, my lad!" he said. "Sit up!"

Ambler Appleyard raised his head, slowly twisted in his revolving chair,
and looked quietly at his employer. And Allerdyke, dropping into an
easy-chair by the fireplace, over which hung a fine steel engraving of
himself, flanked by photographs of the Bradford mills and the Bradford
warehouse, looked at his London manager, secretly admiring the shrewdness
and self-possession evidenced in the young man's face. Appleyard was
certainly no beauty; his outstanding features were sandy-coloured hair,
freckled cheeks, a snub nose, and a decidedly wide mouth; moreover, his
ears, unusually large, stood out from the sides of his head in very
prominent fashion, and gave a beholder the impression that they were
perpetually stretched to attention. But he was the owner of a well-shaped
forehead, a pair of steady and honest blue eyes, and a firmly cut square
chin, and his entire atmosphere conveyed the idea of capacity, resource,
and energy. It pleased Allerdyke, too, to see that the young man was
attentive to his own personal appearance--his well-cut garments bore the
undoubted stamp of the Savile Row tailor; the silk hat which covered his
crop of sandy hair was the latest thing in Sackville Street headgear;
from top to toe he was the smart man-about-town. And that was the sort
of man Marshall Allerdyke liked to have about him, and to see as heads of
his departments--not fops, nor dandies, but men who knew the commercial
value of good appearance and smart finish.

"I didn't know you were in town, Mr. Allerdyke," said the London manager
quietly. "Still, one never knows where you are these days."

"I've scarcely known that myself, my lad, these last seventy-two hours,"
replied Allerdyke. "You mightn't think it, but at this time yesterday I
was going full tilt up to Edinburgh. I want to tell you about that,
Ambler--I want some advice. But business first--aught new?"

"I've brought that South American contract off," replied Appleyard.
"Fixed it this morning."

"Good!" said Allerdyke. "What's it run to, like?"

"Seventy-five thousand," answered Appleyard. "Nice bit of profit on that,
Mr. Allerdyke."

"Good--good!" repeated Allerdyke. "Aught else?"

"Naught--at present. Naught out of the usual, anyway," said the manager.

He took off his hat, laid aside the papers he had been busy with on
Allerdyke's entrance, and twisted his chair round to the hearth. "This
advice, then?" he asked quietly. "I'm free now."

"Aye!" said Allerdyke. He sat reflecting for a moment, and then turned to
his manager with a sudden question.

"Have you heard all this about my cousin James?" he asked with sharp
directness.

Appleyard lifted a couple of newspapers from his desk.

"No more than what's in these," he answered. "One tells of his sudden
death at Hull; the other begins to hint that there was something queer
about it."

"Queer!" exclaimed Allerdyke. "Aye, and more than queer, my lad. Our
James was murdered! Now, then, Ambler, I've come here to tell you all the
story--you must listen to every detail. I know your brains--keep 'em
fixed on what I'm going to tell; hear it all; weigh it up, and then tell
me what you make of it; for I'm damned if I can make either head or tail,
back, side, or front of the whole thing--so far. Happen you can see a bit
of light. Listen, now."

Allerdyke, from long training in business habits, was a good teller of a
plain and straightforward tale: Appleyard, for the same reason, was a
good listener. So one man talked, in low, earnest tones, checking off
his points as he made them, taking care that he emphasized the principal
items of his news and dwelt lightly on the connecting links, and the
other listened in silence, keeping a concentrated attention and storing
away the facts in his memory as they were duly marshalled before him.
For a good hour one brain gave out, and the other took in, and without
waste of words.

It came to an end at last, and master looked at man.

"Well?" said Allerdyke, after a silence that was full of meaning--"well?"

"Take some thinking about," answered Appleyard tersely. "It's a big
thing--a devilish clever thing, too. There's one fact strikes me at once,
though. The news about the Nastirsevitch jewels leaked out somewhere, Mr.
Allerdyke. That's certain. Either here in London, or over there in
Russia, it leaked out. Now until this Princess comes you've no means of
knowing if the leakage was over yonder. But there's one thing you do
know now--at this very minute. There were three people here in England
who knew that the jewels were on the way from Russia, in Mr. James
Allerdyke's charge. Those three were this man Fullaway, his lady
secretary, and Delkin, the Chicago millionaire! Now, then, Mr.
Allerdyke--how much, or what, do you know about any one of 'em?"




CHAPTER XIV

FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD


Allerdyke encountered this direct question with a long, fixed stare of
growing comprehension; his silence showed that he was gradually taking in
its significance.

"Aye, just so!" he said at last. "Just so! How much do I know of any of
'em? Well, of Fullaway no more than I've seen. Of his secretary no more
than what I've seen and heard. Of Delkin no more than that such a man
exists. Sum total--what!"

"Next to naught," said Appleyard. "In a case like this you ought to know
more. Fullaway may be all right. Fullaway may be all wrong. His lady
secretary may be as right as he is, or as wrong as he is. As to
Delkin--he might be a creature of Fullaway's imagination. Put it all to
yourself now, Mr. Allerdyke--on the face of what you've told me, these
three people--two of 'em, at any rate, for a certainty--knew about these
valuables coming over in Mr. James's charge. So far as you know, your
cousin had 'em when he left Christiania and reached Hull. There they
disappear. So far as you're aware, nobody but these people knew of their
coming--no other people in England knew, at any rate, so far, I repeat,
as your knowledge goes. I should want to know something about these
three, if I were in your place, Mr. Allerdyke."

"Aye--aye!" replied Allerdyke. "I see your point. Well, I've been in
Fullaway's company now for two days--there's no denying he's a smart
chap, a clever chap, and he seems to be doing good business. Moreover,
Ambler, my lad, James knew him and James wasn't the sort to take up with
wrong 'uns. As to the secretary, I can't say. Besides, Fullaway said this
afternoon that he hadn't told her all about it yet."

"All about the Hull affair and the Lennard affair, I took that to mean
from your account," remarked Appleyard. "If she's his confidential
secretary, with access to his papers and business, she'd know all about
the Princess transaction. Now, of course, an inquiry or two of the usual
sort would satisfy you about Fullaway--I mean as a business man. An
inquiry or two would tell you all about Delkin. But you can't get to know
all about Mrs. Marlow from any inquiry. And you can't find out all about
Fullaway from any inquiry. He may be the straightest business man in all
London--and yet have a finger in this pie, and his secretary with him.
Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds' worth of jewels, Mr. Allerdyke,
is--a temptation! And--these folks knew the jewels were on the way.
What's more, they'd time to intercept their bearer--Mr. James."

Allerdyke rubbed his chin and knitted his brows in obvious bewilderment.
"There must ha' been more than them in at it," he said musingly. "A
regular gang of 'em, judging by results."

"Every gang has its ganger," replied Appleyard, with a knowing smile.
"There's no doubt this is a big thing--but there must be a central point,
a head, a controlling authority in it. We come back, you see, after all,
to where we started--these people were the only people in England who
knew about these jewels, so far as we know."

"Aye, but only so far as we know," said Allerdyke. "There may have been
others. There may have been folks who got to know about them over there
in Russia and who communicated their knowledge to some folks here. And
there's always this to be borne in mind--the affair, the plot, may have
been originated there, and worked from there. Remember that!"

"Quite so--and you can't decide on anything relating to that until this
Princess comes," agreed Appleyard. "It'll have to rest till you've heard
all she has to say, and then you'll know where you are. But in the
meantime you can find out a bit about Fullaway and this millionaire
man--I can find out for you, if you like, in a few hours."

"Do, my lad!" said Allerdyke. "It's always well to know who you're
dealing with. Aye--make an inquiry or two."

"But remember that all I can inquire about will be in the ordinary
business way," continued Appleyard. "I can ascertain if there is a Delkin
in town, who's a Chicago millionaire, and if Fullaway's a reputable
business man--but that'll be all. As to the secretary, I can't do
anything."

"I'll keep an eye on her myself," said Allerdyke. "Well, do this, then,
and let me know the results. I've put up at the Waldorf, and there I
shall stop while all this is being investigated here in London, but I
shall pop in and out here, of course. And now I'll go back there and find
out if there's any fresh news from the police or from Hull. I reckon
there'll be some fine reading in the newspapers in a day or two,
Ambler--it'll all have to come out now."

In this supposition Allerdyke was right. The police authorities, finding
that the affair had assumed dimensions of an astonishing magnitude,
decided to seek the aid of the Press, and to publish the entire story in
the fullest possible fashion. And Allerdyke and all London woke next
morning to find the newspapers alive with a new sensation, and every
other man asking his neighbour what it all meant. Three mysterious
murders--two big thefts--together--the newspaper world had known nothing
like it for years, and the only regrets in Fleet Street were those of the
men who would have sacrificed their very noses to have got the story
exclusively to themselves. But the police authorities had exercised a
wise generosity, and no one newspaper knew more than another at that
stage--they all, as Fullaway said to Allerdyke at breakfast, got a fair
start, and from that one could run their own race.

"We shall be to these Pressmen as a pot of honey to flies," he observed.
"Take my advice, Allerdyke--see none of them, and if you should--as you
will--get buttonholed and held up, refuse to say a word."

"You can leave that to me," answered Allerdyke, with a twitch of his
determined jaw. "It 'ud be a clever newspaper chap that would get aught
out of me. I've other fish to fry than to talk to these gentry. And what
good will all this newspaper stuff do?"

"Lots!" replied Fullaway. "It will draw attention. There'll already be a
few thousand amateur detectives looking out for the man who left the
French maid dead in Eastbourne Terrace, and a few hundred amateur
criminologists racking their brains for a plausible theory of the whole
thing. Oh, yes, it's a good thing to arouse public interest, Allerdyke.
All that's wanted now is a rousing reward. Have you thought of that?"

"Didn't I mention it to the man at Scotland Yard yesterday?" said
Allerdyke. "I'm game to find aught reasonable in the way of brass. But,"
he added, with a touch of true Yorkshire caution, "I've been thinking
that over during the night, and it seems to me that there are two other
parties who ought to come in at it, with me, of course. Miss Lennard and
the Princess, d'ye see? If they're willing, I am."

"You mean a joint reward for the detection of the murderer and the
recovery of the jewels?" suggested Fullaway.

"Well, you can be pretty certain, by now, that the murders and the thefts
are all the work of one gang," replied Allerdyke. "So it's long as it's
short. These two women want their pearls and their diamonds back--I want
to know who killed my cousin James. We're all three in the same boat,
really; so if we make up a good, substantial purse between us--what?"

"Good!" agreed Fullaway. "We'll hear what the Princess says when she
arrives to-night. I guess we shall all know better where we exactly are
when we've heard what she has to say."

"If she's like most women that's lost aught in the way of finery,"
remarked Allerdyke drily, "she'll have plenty to say."

That night he had abundant opportunity of hearing the Princess
Nastirsevitch's views on the situation, freely expressed. He himself
fetched Celia Lennard to the conference at New Scotland Yard; they found
Fullaway and the Princess already there, in full blast of debate.
Allerdyke inspected the new arrival with keen interest and found her a
well-preserved, handsome woman of middle-age, sharp, smart, and American
to the finger-tips. The official whom they had met before was already
questioning her, and for Allerdyke's benefit he repeated what had
already transpired.

"The Princess affirms, Mr. Allerdyke, that not a soul but herself and
your cousin, Mr. James Allerdyke, knew of this affair," he said. "I am
right, am I not, madame," he went on, turning to the Princess, "in saying
that not one word of this transaction, or proposed transaction, was ever
mentioned by you to any person but Mr. James Allerdyke?"

"To no other person than Mr. James Allerdyke," assented the Princess
firmly. "It would have been strange conduct on my part, I think, if I had
told anybody else anything about it!--my object, of course, being
secrecy. From the moment I first mentioned it to Mr. James Allerdyke
until I arrived here just now and met Mr. Fullaway there, I never spoke
of the matter to any one!"

The official looked at Allerdyke as if inviting him to ask any question
that occurred to him, and Allerdyke immediately brought up that which had
been in his mind ever since his discovery of James Allerdyke's
pocket-diary.

"How came you to repose such confidence in my cousin, ma'am?" he asked
brusquely. "I always thought I was pretty deep in his counsels, but I
never heard him mention your name. Did he know you well?"

"I had known Mr. James Allerdyke for a little over a year," replied the
Princess. "I met him first in Paris--then on the Riviera--then in
Russia. The fact is, he did some business for me. I had every confidence
in him--the fullest confidence. I knew he was a thoroughly straight man.
And just as I had decided to sell these jewels'--all my own property,
mind--in order to clear off the whole lot of the mortgages on my son's
estate, so's he could come into them quite unencumbered, I happened to
meet Mr. James Allerdyke in St. Petersburg--that's of course, a few weeks
ago--and I immediately took him into my confidence and asked his help.
With the result," added the Princess, "that he cabled to Mr. Fullaway
there and that all this has come about! I tell you in the most emphatic
manner at my command," she went on, turning to the official, and tapping
the edge of his desk as if to accentuate her words, "it's impossible that
anybody over there in Russia could have known of my arrangements with Mr.
James Allerdyke--utterly impossible. For I never spoke of them to any one
there, and I'm sure he would not!"

"Impossible is a big word, Princess," said the official. "There may have
been ways of leakage. Did you exchange any correspondence on the matter?"

"Not a line!" replied the Princess. "There was no need. We met three
times and arranged everything. The only correspondence there was--if you
could call it correspondence--was the exchange of cablegrams between Mr.
James Allerdyke and Mr. Fullaway. I saw those cablegrams--of course the
jewels were mentioned. But I don't believe Mr. James Allerdyke was the
sort of man to leave his cablegrams lying around for somebody else to
see. I know he had them in his pocket-book. No!" she went on, with added
emphasis and conviction. "The thing did not start over there, I'm sure.
It's been put up here, in London."

"Well," observed the official, after a pause, "there's only one thing
more I want to ask you just now, Princess. You gave these immensely
valuable jewels to Mr. James Allerdyke? Did he hand you any receipt
for them?"

"A receipt which I've got here," answered the Princess, tapping her
hand-bag. "And it's all in his handwriting, and made out in the form of
an inventory--all that was at his suggestion."

"And how," asked the official, "were the jewels packed when given to
him?"

"Very simply," said the Princess. "That was his suggestion, too. They
were wrapped up in soft paper and chamois leather, and put into an old
cigar-box which he placed in his small travelling-bag. That bag, he said,
would never go out of his sight until he reached London, where, when he'd
exhibited the jewels to Mr. Fullaway's client, he was to lodge them in a
bank. It seemed to him that the cigar-box was a good notion--the jewels
themselves didn't take up so much room as you might think, and he laid
some very ordinary things over the top of the package--a cake or two of
soap, a sponge, and things like that--so that, supposing the cigar-box
had been opened, its contents would have seemed very ordinary, you
understand?"

"And yet," said the official softly, "the thieves evidently went
straight for that cigar-box when the critical moment came. Well," he
continued, looking round at his visitors, "I don't know that we can do
more to-night. Is there anything any of you ladies or gentlemen wish
to suggest?"

"Yes!" said Allerdyke. "In my opinion a most important thing. It's my
decided conviction that in this case we've got to offer a reward--no mere
trifling sum, but one that'll set a few fingers tingling. And it's my
concern, and the Princess's, and Miss Lennard's. And if you'll permit us
three to have a quiet talk in yon corner of your room, I'll tell you its
result when we've finished."

The result of that quiet talk--chiefly conducted by Allerdyke with
masculine force and vigour--was that by noon of next day the exterior of
every London police-station attracted vast attention by reason of a
freshly-posted bill. It was a long bill, and it set out the surface
particulars of three murders, and of two robberies in connection
therewith. The particulars made interesting reading enough--but the real
fascination of the bill was in its big, staring headline--

FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD.




CHAPTER XV

THE BAYSWATER BOARDING-HOUSE


Some time previous to these remarkable events, Marshall Allerdyke,
being constantly in London, and having to spend much time on business
in the Mansion House region, had sought and obtained membership of the
City Carlton Club, in St. Swithin's Lane, and at noon of the day
following the arrival of the Princess Nastirsevitch, he stood in a
window of the smoking-room, looking out for Appleyard, whom he had
asked to lunch. In one hand he carried a folded copy of the reward
bill, which Blindway had left at the Waldorf Hotel for him, and while
he waited--the room being empty just then save for an old gentleman who
read _The Times_ in a far corner--he unfolded and took a surreptitious
glance at it, chuckling to himself at the thought of the cupidity which
its contents and promises would arouse in the breasts of the many
thousands of folk who would read it.

"Fifty thousand pounds!" he thought, with high amusement. "Egad, some of
'em 'ud feel like Rothschild himself if they could shove that bit in
their pockets--they'd take on all the airs of a Croesus!"

The thought of the Rothschild wealth made him lift his eyes and glance
through the window at the gate of the quiet, ultra-respectable
establishment across the way. Allerdyke, like all men of considerable
means, had a mighty respect for wealth in its colossal forms, and he
never visited the City Carlton, nor looked out of its smoking-room
windows, without glancing with interest and admiration at the famous
Rothschild offices, immediately opposite. It amused him to speculate and
theorize about the vast amounts of money which must needs be turned over
in theory and practice within those soberly quiet walls, to indulge in
fancies about the secrets, financial and political, which must be
discussed and locked up in human breasts there--to him the magic address,
New Court, St. Swithin's Lane, was as full of potential mystery as the
Sphinx is to an imaginative traveller. He glanced at its gates and at its
sign now with an almost youthful awe and reverence--the reverence of the
man of considerable wealth for the men of enormous wealth--and while his
eyes were thus busy a taxi-cab came along the Lane, stopped by the
entrance to New Court, and set down Mrs. Marlow.

Allerdyke instinctively shrank back within the curtains of the
smoking-room window. There was no reason why he should have done so. He
had no objection to Franklin Fullaway's secretary seeing him standing in
a window of the City Carlton Club; he knew no reason why Mrs. Marlow
should object to be seen getting out of a cab in St. Swithin's Lane. Yet,
he drew back, and, from his concealed position, watched. Not that there
was anything out of the ordinary to watch. Mrs. Marlow, who looked
daintier, prettier, more charming than ever, paid her driver, gave him a
smiling nod, and tripped into New Court, a bundle of papers in her
well-gloved hand.

"Business with Rothschild's, eh?" mused Allerdyke.

"Well, I daresay there's a vast lot of folk in this city who do business
across there. Um!--smart little woman that, and no doubt as clever as
she's smart. I'd like to know--"

Just then the ancient hall-porter of the club (who surely missed his
vocation in life, and should have been a bishop, or at least a dean)
ushered in Appleyard, whom Allerdyke immediately beckoned to join him
amongst the window-curtains.

"I say!" he whispered, with a side glance at _The Times_-reading old
gentleman, "you remember me telling you yesterday about the
lady-secretary of Fullaway's--Mrs. Marlow?--what a smart bit she looked
to be. Eh?"

"Well?" replied Appleyard. "Of course, what about her?"

"She's just gone into Rothschild's across there," answered Allerdyke.
"Come here, this corner; she'll be coming out before long, no doubt, and
then you'll see her. As I told you about her, I want you to take a look
at her--she's worth seeing for more reasons than one."

Appleyard allowed himself to be drawn into the embrasure. He waited
patiently and in silence--presently Allerdyke dug a finger into his ribs.

"She's coming!" he whispered. "Now!"

Appleyard looked half-carelessly across the street--the next instant he
was devoutly thanking his stars that since boyhood he had sedulously
trained himself to control his countenance. He made no sign, gave no
indication of previous acquaintance, as he watched Mrs. Marlow's svelt
figure trip out of New Court and away up St. Swithin's Lane; his face
was as calm and unemotional, his eyes as steady as ever when he turned
to his employer.

"Pretty woman," he said. "Looks a sharp 'un, too, Mr. Allerdyke. Well,"
he went on, turning away into the room as if Mrs. Marlow no longer
interested him. "I got those two reports for you--shall I tell you about
them now?"

"Aye, for sure," replied Allerdyke. "Come into this corner--we'll have a
glass of sherry--it's early for lunch yet. Those reports, eh? About
Fullaway and Delkin, you mean?"

"Just so," said Appleyard, settling himself in the corner of a lounge and
lighting the cigarette which Allerdyke offered him. "They're ordinary
business reports, you know, got through the usual channels. Fullaway's
all right, so far as the various commercial agencies know--nothing ever
been heard against him, anyhow. The account of himself and his business
which he gave to you is quite correct. To sum up--he's a sound man--quite
straight--on the business surface, which is, of course, all we can get
at. As for Delkin, that's a straight story, too--anyway, there's a
Chicago millionaire of that name been in town some weeks--he's stopping
at the Hotel Cecil--has a palatial suite there--and his daughter's about
to marry Lord Hexwater. All correct there, Mr. Allerdyke, too--I mean as
regards all that Fullaway told you."

"Well, there's something in knowing all that, Ambler, my lad,"
answered Allerdyke. "You can't get to know too much about the folks
you're dealing with, you know. Very good--we'll leave that now. What
d'ye think o' this?"

He unfolded and held up the reward bill, first looking as fondly at it as
a youthful author looks at his first printed performance, and then
glancing at his manager to see what effect it had upon him. And he saw
Ambler Appleyard's sandy eyebrows go up in a definite arch.

"Fifty thousand!" muttered Appleyard. "Whew! It's a stiff figure, Mr.
Allerdyke. You've put a thick finger in that pie, I'm thinking!"

"One half from the Princess; twenty thousand from me; five thousand from
the singing lady," whispered Allerdyke. "That's how it's made up, my lad.
And naught'll please me better than to see it paid out--that's a fact!"

"You'll have some triers," said Appleyard, with an emphatic wag of the
head. "Make no mistake about that! Fifty thousand! Gosh!--why, anybody
that's got the least clue, the slightest idea--and there must be
somebody--'ll have a go in for all he or she's worth!"

"Let 'em try!" exclaimed Allerdyke. "The welcome man's the chap that
enables us to recover and convict. Here, shove that bill in your pocket,
and read it at your leisure--there's something to think about in what it
says, I promise you."

Appleyard went away from the club an hour and a half later, thinking hard
enough. But he was not thinking about the reward bill. What he was
thinking about, had been thinking about from the moment in which
Allerdyke had drawn him into the smoking-room window and pointed her out
to him, was--Mrs. Marlow. For Appleyard knew Mrs. Marlow well enough, but
(always those buts in life, he reflected with a cynical laugh as he
threaded his way back to Gresham Street) he knew her by another
name--Miss Slade. And now he was wondering why Miss Slade or Mrs. Marlow
had two names, and why she appeared to be one person as he knew her in
private life, and another as he had seen her that very morning.

On Appleyard's first coming to town in the capacity of sole manager of
the London warehouse of Allerdyke and Partners, Limited, he had set
himself up in two rooms in a Bloomsbury lodging-house. He knew little of
London life at that time, or he would have known that he was thus
condemning himself to a drab and dreary existence. As it was, he quickly
learnt by experience, and within six months, having picked up a
comfortable knowledge of things, he transferred himself to one of those
well-equipped boarding establishments in the best part of Bayswater,
wherein bachelors, old maids, young women, widowers, and married couples
without encumbrance, can live together in as much or as little friendship
and intercourse as pleases their individual tastes. Ambler Appleyard took
his time and selected the likeliest place he could find after much
inspection of many similar places. His salary of a thousand a year (to
which was to be added a handsome, if varying commission) enabled him to
pick and choose; the house which he did choose, in the immediate
neighbourhood of Lancaster Gate, was of the luxurious order; its private
rooms were models of the last thing in comfort, its public rooms were
equal to those of the best modern hotels. If you wanted male society, you
could find it in the smoking-room and the billiard-room; if you desired
feminine influences there was a pleasing variety in the drawing-room and
the lounges. You could be just as much alone, and just as much in company
as you pleased--anyway, the place suited Ambler Appleyard, and there he
had lived for two and a half years. And during a good two of them, the
young lady whom he knew as Miss Slade had lived there too.

With Miss Slade, Appleyard, as fellow-resident in the same house, was on
quite friendly terms. He sometimes talked to her in one of the
drawing-rooms. He knew her for a clever, rather brilliant young woman,
with ideas, and the power to express them. It was evident to him that she
had travelled and had seen a good deal of the world and its men and
women; she could talk politics with far more knowledge and insight than
most women; she knew more than a little of economic matters, and was
inclined, like Appleyard himself, to utilitarianism in all things
affecting government and society. But of herself she never spoke
directly; all Appleyard knew of her concerns was that she was engaged in
business of some nature, and went to it every morning as regularly and
punctually as he went to his. He judged that whatever her business was
she must be well paid for it, or must possess means of her own; nobody,
man or woman, could possibly live at that boarding-house, or private
hotel, as its proprietors preferred to call it, for anything less than
four guineas a week. Well--here was the explanation of Miss Slade's
business; she was evidently private secretary to Mr. Franklin Fullaway,
and competent to do business at a place like Rothschild's. And why
not?--yet ... why did she call herself Miss Slade at the boarding-house
and Mrs. Marlow in her business capacity?

"And yet why shouldn't she?" asked Appleyard of himself. "A woman's a
right to do what she likes in that way, and she isn't necessarily
deceitful because she passes as a single woman in one place and a widow
in another. I daresay she could give a very good reason for all this--but
who's got any right to ask her for one? Not me, certainly!"

He had no intention of asking Miss Slade anything when he left the City
for Bayswater that evening, but chance threw him into her immediate
company in one of the lounges, where, after dinner, they met at a table
on which the evening newspapers were laid out. As Miss Slade picked up
one, Appleyard picked up another--certain big, strong letters on the
front sheets of both gave him an opening.

"Have you read anything about this affair?" he asked, with apparent
carelessness, pointing to a row of capitals. "This extraordinary
murder-robbery business which is becoming the talk of the town? Murders
of three people--theft of nearly three hundred thousand pounds' worth of
jewels--and fifty thousand pounds reward! It's colossal!"

Miss Slade, without showing the slightest shade of interest, shook her
head.

"I don't read murders," she answered. "Fifty thousand pounds reward!
That's an awful lot, isn't it?"

"Worth trying for, anyway!" replied Appleyard. He gave her a sly look,
and smiled grimly. "I think I'll try for it," he said. "Fifty thousand!"

"How could any one try unless he or she's some clue?" she asked. "If you
don't know anything about it, or any of the persons concerned, where
would you begin?"

"There are plenty of persons named in these accounts about whom one could
find something out, at any rate," replied Appleyard, tapping the
newspaper with his finger. "There's a Russian Princess with a sneezy sort
of name; a Yorkshire manufacturer named Allerdyke; an American man called
Franklin Fullaway--all seem to be well-known people in town. You ever
hear of any of them?"

Miss Slade turned a face of absolute indifference on him and the paper to
which he was pointing.

"Never," she answered calmly. "But I daresay I shall hear of them
now--for nine days."

Then she went off, with her own newspaper, and Appleyard carried his to a
corner and sat down.

"That's a lie!" he said to himself. "And a woman who will tell a lie as
calmly and quietly as that will tell a thousand with equal assurance and
cleverness. She--"

There he stopped. In the doorway Miss Slade had also stopped--stopped to
speak to another resident, a man, about whom Ambler Appleyard had often
wondered as keenly as he was now wondering about Miss Slade herself.




CHAPTER XVI

MR. GERALD RAYNER


There were various reasons why Ambler Appleyard's wonder had often been
aroused by the man to whom Miss Slade had stopped to speak. He wondered
about him, first of all, because of his personal appearance. That was
striking enough to excite wonder in anybody, for he was one of those
remarkable men who possess great beauty of countenance allied to
unfortunate deformity of body. The face was that of a poet and a
dreamer, the body that of a hunchback and a cripple. Painter or
sculptor alike would have rejoiced to depict the face on canvas or
carve it in marble--its perfect shape, fine tinting, the lines of the
features, the beauty of the eyes, the wealth of the dark, clustering
hair, were all as near artistic perfection as could be. But all else
spoke of deformity--the badly bent back, the twisted body, the short
leg, the misshapen foot. It was as if Nature had endeavoured in some
wickedly mischievous freak to show how beauty and ugliness can be
combined in one creature.

That was one reason for wonder in Appleyard's mind--he had never come
across quite this type before, though he knew that hunchbacks and
cripples are often gifted with unusual strength, and more than usual good
looks, as if in ironic compensation for their other disadvantages. But
there were others. Mr. Gerald Rayner--everybody knew everybody else's
name in that private hotel, for they were all more or less permanent
residents--was something of a mystery man. In spite of his deformity, he
was the best-dressed man in the house--they were all smart men there, but
none of them came up to him in the way of clothes, linen, and personal
adornment, always in the best and most cultured taste. Also it was easy
to gather that he was a young man of large means. Although he made full
use of the public rooms, and was always in and about them of an evening,
from dinner-time to a late hour, he tenanted a private suite of
apartments in the hotel--those residents, few in number, who had been
privileged to obtain entrance to them spoke with almost awed admiration