"We have made fullest inquiries concerning Lydenberg. He was certainly

not in practice here either under that or any other name. Nothing is
known of him as a resident in this city. We have definitely ascertained
that he came to Christiania from Copenhagen, by land, via Lund and
Copenhagen, arriving Christiania May 7th, and that he left here by
steamship _Perisco_ for Hull, May 10th."

"You notice the dates?" observed Chettle. "May 7th and 10th. Now, it was
on May 8th that your cousin wired to Fullaway from Christiania, Mr.
Allerdyke--there's no doubt about it! This man, Lydenberg, whoever he is
or was, was sent to waylay your cousin at Christiania--sent from London.
I've worked it out--he went overland--Belgium, Holland, Germany, Denmark,
Sweden, Norway. Sounds a lot--but it's a quick journey. Sir--he was sent!
And the sooner we find out about that photograph the better."

"I'm at work," answered Allerdyke. "Leave it to me."

He found his morocco-bound photograph album awaiting him when he arrived
at the Waldorf Hotel next day, and during the afternoon he took it in his
hand and strolled quietly and casually into Franklin Fullaway's rooms.
Everything there looked as he had always seen it--Mrs. Marlow, charming
as ever, was tapping steadily at her typewriter: Fullaway, himself a
large cigar in his mouth, was reading the American newspapers, just
arrived, in his own sanctum. He greeted Allerdyke with enthusiasm.

"Been away since yesterday, eh?" he said, after warm greetings. "Home?"

"Aye, I've been down to Yorkshire," responded Allerdyke offhandedly. "One
or two things I wanted to see to, and some things I wanted to get. This
is one of 'em."

"Family Bible?" inquired Fullaway, eyeing the solemnly bound album.

"No. Photos," answered Allerdyke. He was going to test things at once,
and he opened the book at the fateful page. "I'm a bit of an amateur
photographer," he went on, with a laugh. "Here's what's probably the last
photo ever taken of James. What d'ye think of it?"

Fullaway glanced at the photograph, all unconscious that his caller was
watching him as he had never been watched in his life. He waved his cigar
at the open page.

"Oh!" he said airily. "A remarkably good likeness--wonderful! I said so
when I saw it before--excellent likeness, Allerdyke, excellent! Couldn't
be beaten by a professional. Excellent!"

Marshall Allerdyke felt his heart beating like a sledgehammer as he put
his next question, and for the life of him he could not tell how he
managed to keep his voice under control.

"Ah!" he said. "You've seen it before, then? James show it to you?"

Fullaway nodded towards the door of the outer room, from which came the
faint click of the secretary's machine.

"He gave one to Mrs. Marlow the very last time he was here." he answered.
"They were talking about amateur photography, and he pulled a print of
that out of his pocket and made her a present of it; said it couldn't be
beaten. You're a clever hand, Allerdyke--most lifelike portrait I ever
saw. Well--any news?"




CHAPTER XIX

THE LATE CALL


It was with a mighty effort of will that Allerdyke controlled himself
sufficiently to be able to answer Fullaway's question with calmness. This
was for him a critical moment. He knew now to whom James Allerdyke had
given the photograph which Chettle had found concealed in Lydenberg's
watch; knew that the recipient was sitting close by him, separated only
from him by a wall and a door; knew that between her and Lydenberg, or
those who had been in touch with Lydenberg, there must be some strange,
secret, and sinister connection. From Mrs. Marlow to Lydenberg that
photograph had somehow passed, and, as Chettle had well said, the entire
problem of the murders and thefts was mixed up in its transference. All
that was certain--what seemed certain, too, was that Fullaway knew
nothing of these things, and was as innocent as he himself. And for the
fraction of a second he was half-minded to tell all he knew to Fullaway
there and then--and it was only by a still stronger effort of will that
he restrained his tongue, determined to keep a stricter silence than
ever, and replied to the American in an offhand, casual tone.

"News?" he said, with a half-laugh. "Nay, not that I know of. They take
their time, those detective chaps. You heard aught?"

"Nothing particular," answered Fullaway. "Except that the Princess was in
here this morning, and that Miss Lennard came at the same time. But
neither of them had anything of importance to tell. The Princess has been
ransacking her memory all about her affairs with your cousin; she's more
certain than ever now that nobody in Russia but he and she knew anything
about the jewel deal. They were always in strict privacy when they
discussed the matter; no one was present when she gave him the jewels;
she never mentioned the affair to a soul, and she's confident from what
she knew of him, that he wouldn't. So she's more convinced than ever that
the news got out from this side."

"And Miss Lennard--what did she want?" asked Allerdyke.

"Oh! she's found the various references--two or three of 'em--that she
had with the French maid," replied Fullaway. "I looked at them--there's
nothing in them but what you'd expect to find. Two of the writers are
well-known society women, the third was a French marquise. I don't think
anything's to be got out of them, but, anyway, I sent her off to Scotland
Yard with them--it's their work that. Fine photos there, Allerdyke," he
continued, turning over the leaves of the album. "Some of your places in
Bradford, eh."

Allerdyke, who was particularly anxious that he should not seem to have
had an ulterior object in bringing the album up to Fullaway's office
hailed this question with relief. He began to point out and explain the
various pictures--photographs of his mills, warehouses, town office, his
own private house, grounds, surroundings, chatting unconcernedly about
each. And while the two men were thus engaged in came Mrs. Marlow,
bringing letters which needed Fullaway's signature.

"Mrs. Marlow knows more about amateur photography than I do," remarked
Fullaway, with a glance at his secretary. "Here, Mrs. Marlow, these are
same of Mr. Allerdyke's productions--you remember that his cousin, Mr.
James Allerdyke, gave you a photo which this Mr. Allerdyke had taken?"

Allerdyke, keenly watching the secretary's pretty face as she laid her
papers on Fullaway's desk, saw no sign of embarrassment or confusion;
Fullaway might have made the most innocent and ordinary remark in the
world, and yet, according to Allerdyke's theory and positive knowledge,
it must be fraught with serious meaning to this woman.

"Oh yes!" she flashed, without as much as the flicker of an eyelash. "I
remember--a particularly good photo. So like him!"

Allerdyke's ingenuity immediately invented a remark; he was at that stage
when, he wanted to know as much as possible.

"I wonder which print it was that he gave you?" he said. "One of them--I
only did a few--had a spot in it that'll spread. If that's the one
you've got, I'll give you another in its place, Mrs. Marlow. Have you
got it here?"

But Mrs. Marlow shook her head and presented the same unabashed front.

"No," she answered readily enough. "I took it home, Mr. Allerdyke. But
there's no spot on my print--I should have noticed it at once. May I look
at your album when Mr. Fullaway's finished with it?"

Allerdyke left the album with them and went away. He was utterly
astonished by Mrs. Marlow's coolness. If, as he already believed, she was
mixed up in the murders and robberies, she must know that the photograph
which James Allerdyke had given her was a most important factor, and yet
she spoke of it as calmly and unconcernedly as if it had been a mere
scrap of paper! Of course she hadn't got it at the office--nor at her
home either--it was there at Hull, fitted into the cover of Lydenberg's
old watch.

"A cool hand!" soliloquized Allerdyke as he went downstairs. "Cool,
clever, calm, never off her guard. A damned dangerous woman!--that's the
long and short of it. And--what next?"

Experience and observation of life had taught Marshall Allerdyke that
good counsel is one of life's most valuable assets. He could think for
himself and decide for himself at any moment, but he knew the worth and
value of putting two heads together, especially at a juncture like this.
And so, the afternoon being still young, he went off to his warehouse in
Gresham Street, closeted himself with Ambler Appleyard, and having
pledged him to secrecy, told him all that had happened since the
previous morning.

Ambler Appleyard listened in silence. It was only two or three hours
since he had listened to another story--the report of the two Gaffneys,
and Allerdyke, all unaware of that business, had come upon him while
he was still thinking it over. And while Appleyard gave full attention
to all that his employer said, he was also thinking of what he himself
could tell. By the time that Allerdyke had finished he, too, had
decided to speak.

"So there it is, my lad!" exclaimed Allerdyke, throwing out his hands
with an eloquent gesture as he made an end of his story. "I hope I've put
it clearly to you. It's just as that Chap Chettle said--the whole secret
is in that photograph! And isn't it plain?--that photograph must have
been transferred somehow by this Mrs. Marlow to this Lydenberg. How? Why?
When we can answer those questions--"

He paused at that, and, looking fixedly at his manager, shook his head
half-threateningly.

"I'll tell you what it is, Ambler," he went on, after a moment's silence.
"I've got a good, strong mind to go straight to the police authorities,
tell 'em what I know, insist on 'em fetching Chettle up from Hull at
once, and having that woman arrested. Why not?"

"No!" said Appleyard firmly. "Not yet. Too soon, Mr. Allerdyke--wait a
bit. And now listen to me--I've something to tell you. I've been busy
while you've been away--in this affair. Bit of detective work. I'll tell
you all about it--all! You remember that day I went to lunch with you at
the City Carlton, and you pointed out this Mrs. Marlow to me, going into
Rothschild's? Yes, well--I recognized her."

"You did!" exclaimed Allerdyke. "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?" ejaculated Allerdyke.

"Miss--Miss Slade," answered Appleyard. He drew his chair nearer to
Allerdyke'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 Allerdyke 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
Allerdyke 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 Allerdyke.

"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 Cockney, with all his wits about him, and plenty of
assurance."

"It's detective work, you know, Ambler," said Allerdyke. "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 Allerdyke, finishing 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."

Allerdyke 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. Allerdyke; it's the
best policy. You'll come here to-morrow?"

"Eleven o'clock in the morning," replied Allerdyke. "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 clerkship 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 nigger--he fair
revels in it!"

"Well, there's plenty for him to revel in," observed Allerdyke 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 Allerdyke opened it. "His card, sir."

Allerdyke 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
glasses. 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 Allerdyke, 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. Allerdyke. 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 Allerdyke, 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. Allerdyke!"

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. Allerdyke--that was all written by the same hand, or
I'm--no good!"

Allerdyke 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 glass 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 glass 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. Allerdyke, I'm more than ever convinced that
these two murders--Lydenberg's and the French maid's--were the work of
one hand."

"Likely!" assented Allerdyke. "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!"

Chettle showed his gratification by a start of pleased surprise.

"You have--already!" he exclaimed.

"Already!" replied Allerdyke. "Found it out within an hour of getting
back in here. He gave it"--here, though the door was closed and
bolted, and there was no fear of eavesdroppers, he sank his voice to a
whisper--"he gave it to Fullaway's secretary, the woman we discussed,
Mrs. Marlow. That's a fact. He gave it to her just before he set off
for Russia."

Chettle screwed his lips up to whistle--instead of whistling he suddenly
relaxed them to a comprehending smile.

"Aye, just so!" he said. "I was sure it lay somewhere--here. Fullaway
himself, now--does he know?"

"James gave it to her in Fullaway's presence," replied Allerdyke. "She's
a bit of a photographer, I understand--they were talking about
photography, I gathered, one day when James was in Fullaway's office, and
James pulled that out and gave it to her as a specimen of my work."

"All that came out in talk this afternoon?" asked Chettle.

"Just so. Ordinary, casual talk," assented Allerdyke.

"No suspicion roused?" suggested Chettle.

"I don't think so. Of course, you never can tell. I should say,"
continued Allerdyke, "that she's as deep and clever as ever they make
'em! But it was all so casual, and so natural, that I don't think she'd
the slightest idea that I was trying to get at anything. However, I found
this much out--she couldn't produce the photograph. Said she'd taken it
home. Well--there we are! That's part one of my bit of news, Chettle. Now
for part two. This woman's leading a double life. She's Mrs. Marlow as
Fullaway's secretary and here at his rooms and on his business; where she
lives she's Miss Slade. Eh?"

Chettle pricked his ears.

"When did you find that out?" he asked. "Since you left me this
morning?"

"Found it out this afternoon," replied Allerdyke, with something of
triumph. He had been strolling about the bedroom up to that moment, but
now he drew a chair to the table at which Chettle sat and dropped into it
close beside his visitor.

"I'll tell you all about it," he went on. "You said at Hull yesterday
that you'd always found Yorkshiremen sharp and shrewd--well, this is a
bit more Yorkshire work--work of my manager here in town--Mr.
Appleyard. Listen!"

He gave the detective a clear and succinct account of all that Appleyard
and his satellites had done, and Chettle listened with deep attention,
nodding his head at the various points.

"Yes," he said, when Allerdyke had made an end, "yes, that's all right,
so far. Good, useful work. The thing is--can you fully trust these two
young men--your chauffeur and his brother?"

"I could and would trust my chauffeur with my last shilling," answered
Allerdyke. "And as for his brother, I'll take my man's word for him.
Besides, they both know--or Mr. Gaffney knows--that I'm a pretty generous
paymaster. If a man does aught for me, and does it well, he profits to a
nice penny!"

"A good argument," agreed Chettle. "I don't know that you could beat it,
Mr. Allerdyke. Well, well--we're getting to something and to somewhere!
Now, as you've told me all this, I'll just keep things quiet until I've
met you and your manager to-morrow, with these two Gaffneys--we'll have a
conference. I won't go near the Yard until after that. Eleven o'clock
to-morrow, then, at your warehouse in Gresham Street."

He presently replaced the watch and the postcard in an inner pocket, and
took his leave, and Allerdyke, letting him out, walked along the corridor
with him as far as the lift. And as Allerdyke turned back to his own
room, the third event of that day happened, and seemed to him to be the
most surprising and important one of all.

What made Allerdyke pause as he retraced his steps along the corridor,
pause to look over the balustrade to the floor immediately below his own,
he never knew nor could explain. But, just as he was about to re-enter
his room, he did so pause, leaning over the railings and looking down for
a moment. In that moment he saw Mrs. Marlow.

A considerable portion of the floor immediately beneath him was fully
exposed to the view of any one leaning over the balustrade as Allerdyke
did. This was a quiet part of the hotel, a sort of wing cut away from
the main building; the floor at which he was looking was given up to
private suites of rooms, one of them, a larger one than the others,
being Fullaway's, which filled one side of the corridor; the others
were suites of two, in some cases of three rooms. As he looked over and
down, Allerdyke suddenly saw a door open in one of these smaller
suites--open silently and stealthily. Then he saw Mrs. Marlow look out,
and she glanced right and left about her. The next instant, she emerged
from the room with the same stealthiness, closed and locked the door
with a key which she immediately pocketed, slipped along the corridor,
and disappeared into Franklin Fullaway's suite. It was all over in less
than a minute, and Allerdyke turned into his own door, smiling
cynically to himself.

"She looked right and left, but she forgot to look up!" he muttered.
"Ah! those small details. And what does that mean? Anyway, I know which
door she came out of!"

He glanced at his watch--precisely half-past eleven. He made a note of
the time in his pocket-book and went to bed. And next morning, rising
early, as was his custom, he descended to the ground floor by means of
the stairs instead of the lift, and as he passed the door from which he
had seen Mrs. Marlow emerge he mentally registered the number.
Fifty-three. Number fifty-three.

Allerdyke, who could not exist without fresh air and exercise, went for a
stroll before breakfast when he was in London--he usually chose the
Embankment, as being the nearest convenient open space, and thither he
now repaired, thinking things over. There were many new features of this
affair to think about, but the one of the previous night now occupied his
thoughts to the exclusion of the others. What was this woman doing,
coming--with evident secrecy--out of one set of rooms, and entering
another at that late hour? He wanted to know--he must find out--and he
would find out with ease,--and indirectly, from Fullaway.

Fullaway always took his breakfast at a certain table in a certain corner
of the coffee-room at the hotel; there Allerdyke had sometimes joined
him. He found the American there, steadily eating, when he returned from
his walk, and he dropped into a chair at his side with a casual remark
about the fine morning.

"Didn't set eyes on you last night at all," he went on, as he picked up
his napkin. "Off somewhere, eh?"

"Spent the evening out," answered Fullaway. "Not often I do, but I
did--for once in a way. Van Koon and I (you don't know Van Koon, do
you?--he's a fellow countryman of mine, stopping here for the summer,
and a very clever man) we dined at the Carlton, and then went to the
Haymarket Theatre. I was going to ask you to join us, Allerdyke, but you
were out and hadn't come in by the time we had to go."

"Thank you--no, I didn't get in until seven o'clock or so," answered
Allerdyke. "So I'd a quiet evening."

"No news, I suppose?" asked Fullaway, going vigorously forward with his
breakfast. "Heard nothing from the police authorities?"

"Nothing," replied Allerdyke. "I suppose they're doing things in their
own way, as usual."

"Just so," assented Fullaway. "Well, it's an odd thing to me that nobody
comes forward to make some sort of a shot at that reward! Most
extraordinary that the man of the Eastbourne Terrace affair should have
been able to get clean away without anybody in London having seen him--or
at any rate that the people who must have seen him are unable to connect
him with the murder of that woman. Extraordinary!"

"It's all extraordinary," said Allerdyke. He took up a newspaper which
Fullaway had thrown down and began to talk of some subject that caught
his eye, until Fullaway rose, pleaded business, and went off to his rooms
upstairs. When he had gone Allerdyke reconsidered matters. So Fullaway
had been out the night before, had he--dining out, and at a theatre?
Then, of course, it would be quite midnight before he got in. Therefore,
presumably, he did not know that his secretary was about his rooms--and
entering and leaving another suite close by. No--Fullaway knew
nothing--that seemed certain.

The remembrance of what he had seen sent Allerdyke, as soon as he had
breakfasted, to the hall of the hotel, and to the register of guests.
There was no one at the register at that moment, and he turned the pages
at his leisure until he came to what he wanted. And there it was--in
plain black and white--

NUMBER 53. MR. JOHN VAN KOON. NEW YORK CITY, U.S.A.




CHAPTER XXI

THE YOUNG MAN WHO LED PUGS


Allerdyke, with a gesture peculiar to him, thrust his hands in the
pockets of his trousers, strolled away from the desk on which the
register lay open, and going over to the hall door stood there a while,
staring out on the tide of life that rolled by, and listening to the
subdued rattle of the traffic in its ceaseless traverse of the Strand.
And as he stood in this apparently idle and purposeless lounging
attitude, he thought--thought of a certain birthday of his, a good thirty
years before, whereon a kind, elderly aunt had made him a present of a
box of puzzles. There were all sorts of puzzles in that box--things that
you had to put together, things that had to be arranged, things that had
to be adjusted. But there was one in particular which had taken his
youthful fancy, and had at the same time tried his youthful temper--a
shallow tray wherein were a vast quantity of all sorts and sizes of bits
of wood, gaily coloured. There were quite a hundred of those bits, and
you had to fit them one into the other. When, after much trying of
temper, much exercise of patience, you had accomplished the task, there
was a beautiful bit of mosaic work, a picture, a harmonious whole, lovely
to look upon, something worthy of the admiring approbation of uncles and
aunts, grandmothers and grandfathers. But--the doing of it!

"Naught, however, to this confounded thing!" mused Allerdyke, gazing at
and not seeing the folk on the broad sidewalk. "When all the bits of
this puzzle have been fitted into place I daresay one'll be able to look
down on it as a whole and say it looks simple enough when finished, but,
egad, they're of so many sorts and shapes and queer angles that they're
more than a bit difficult to fit at present. Now who the deuce is this
Van Koon, and what was that Mrs. Marlow, alias Miss Slade, doing in his
rooms last night when he was out?"

He was exercising his brains over a possible solution of this problem
when Fullaway suddenly appeared in the hall behind him, accompanied by a
man whom Allerdyke at once took to be the very individual about whom he
was speculating. He was a man of apparently forty years of age, of
average height and build, of a full countenance, sallow in complexion,
clean-shaven, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles over a pair of sapphire blue
eyes--a shrewd, able-looking man, clad in the loose fitting, square-cut
garments just then affected by his fellow-countrymen, and having a
low-crowned, soft straw hat pulled down over his forehead. His hands were
thrust into the pockets of his jacket; a long, thin, black cigar stuck
out of a corner of his humorous-looking lips; he cocked an intelligent
eye at Allerdyke as he and Fullaway advanced to the door.

"Hullo, Allerdyke!" said Fullaway in his usual vivacious fashion.
"Viewing the prospect o'er, eh? Allow me to introduce Mr. Van Koon, whom
I don't think you've met, though he's under the same roof. Van Koon, this
is the Mr. Allerdyke I've mentioned to you."

The two men shook hands and stared at each other. Whoever and whatever
this man may be, thought Allerdyke, he gives you a straight look and a
good grip--two characteristics which in his opinion went far to establish
any unknown individual's honesty.

"No," remarked Van Koon. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Mr.
Allerdyke before. But I'm out a great deal--I don't spend much time
indoors this fine weather. You gentlemen know your London well--I don't,
and I'm putting in all the time I can to cultivate her acquaintance."

"Been in town long?" asked Allerdyke, wanting to say something and
impelled to this apparently trite question by the New Yorker's own
observations.

"Since the first week in April," answered Van Koon, "And as this is my
first visit to England, I'm endeavouring to do everything well. Fullaway
tells me, Mr. Allerdyke, that you come from Bradford, the big
manufacturing city up north. Well, now, Bradford is one of the places on
my list--hullo!" he exclaimed, breaking off short. "I guess here's a man
who's wanting you, Fullaway, in a considerable bit of a hurry."

Fullaway and Allerdyke looked out on to the pavement and saw Blindway,