The Rayner-Slade Amalgamation

"Just so," he said. "I take your meaning. Now then, come in, and we'll put it before my manager, Mr. Appleyard. I've great faith in his judgment—let's see what he's got to say."

The two Gaffneys were waiting just within the packingroom of the warehouse. Allerdyke bade them wait a little longer, and took the detective straight into Appleyard's office. There, behind the closed door, he told Appleyard of everything that had happened since their last meeting, and of what Chettle had just said. The problem was, in view of all that, of the mysterious proceedings of Mrs. Marlow the night before, and of what Allerdyke had just heard at New Scotland Yard—what was best to be done, severally and collectively, by all of them?

Ambler Appleyard grasped the situation at once and solved the problem in a few direct words. There was no need whatever, he said, for Chettle to do more than his plain duty, no need for him to exceed it. He was bound, being what he was, to make his report about his discovery of the photograph and the writing on it. That he must do. But he was not bound to tell anything that Allerdyke had told him: he was not bound to give information which Allerdyke had collected. Let Chettle go and tell the plain facts about his own knowledge of the photo and leave Allerdyke, for the moment, clean out of the question. Allerdyke himself could go with his news in due course. And, wound up Appleyard, who had a keen knowledge of human nature and saw deep into Chettle's mind, Mr. Allerdyke would doubtless see that Chettle lost nothing by holding his tongue about anything that wasn't exactly ripe for discussion. At present, he repeated, let Chettle do his duty—not exceed it.

"That's it," agreed Allerdyke. "You've hit it, Ambler. You go and tell what you know of your own knowledge," he went on, turning to Chettle.

"Leave me clean out for the time being. I'll come in at the right moment.

Say naught about me or of what I've told you. And if you're sent back to Hull, just contrive to see me before you go. And, as Mr. Appleyard says, I'll see you're all right, anyhow."

When Chettle had gone, Allerdyke closed the door on him and turned to his manager with a knowing look.

"That chap's right, you know, Ambler," he said. "A false move, a too hasty step'll ruin everything. If that woman's startled—if she gets a suspicion—egad, it's all mixed up about as badly as can be! Now, about these Gaffneys?"

"Wait a while," said Appleyard. "I don't know that we want their services just yet. I've found out a thing or two that may be useful. About this man Rayner now, who's in evident close touch with Miss Slade (by the by, you saw her at the Waldorf at half-past eleven last night, and I saw her come into the Pompadour at half-past twelve, with Rayner), and about whom we accordingly want to know something—I've found out, through ordinary business channels, that he does carry on a business at Clytemnestra House, in Arundel Street, under the name of Gavin Ramsay. And—if we want to know more of him—I've an idea. You go and see him, Mr. Allerdyke—on business."

"I? Business?" exclaimed Allerdyke. "What sort of business?"

"He's an inventor's agent," replied Appleyard. "It's a profession I never heard of before, but he seems to act as a go-between. Folks that have got an invention go to him—he helps 'em about it—helps 'em to perfect it, patent it, get it on the market. You've a good excuse—there's that patent railway chair of your man Gankrodgers, been lying there in that corner for the past year, and you promised Gankrodgers you'd help him about it. Put it in a cab and go to this Rayner, or Ramsay—there's your excuse, and you can say you heard of him in the City, from Wilmingtons—it was they who told me what he was. It's a good notion, Mr. Allerdyke."

"What object?" asked Allerdyke.

"Simply to get a look at him," replied Appleyard. "Look here—you know very well that there's a strong suspicion against Miss Slade. Miss Slade, to my knowledge, is in close touch, with Rayner. Therefore, let's know what we can about Rayner. You're the man to go and see him at his own place. Do it—and we'll consider the question of having him watched by the two Gaffneys when you've seen and talked to him."

Allerdyke considered this somewhat strange proposal in silence for a while. At last he rose with a look of decision.

"Well, I've certainly a good excuse," he said. "Here, have that thing packed up and put in a cab—I'll go."

Half an hour later he found himself shown into a smartly furnished office where Mr. Gavin Ramsay sat at a handsome desk surrounded by shelves and cabinets whereon and wherein were set out the products of the brains of many inventors—models of machines, mechanical toys, labour-saving notions, things plainly useful, things obviously extravagant. The occupant of this museum glanced at Allerdyke and the box which he carried with an amused smile, and Allerdyke said to himself that Appleyard was right in his description—if the man was crippled and deformed he certainly possessed a beautiful face.

"Mr. Marshall Allerdyke," said the hope of inventors, glancing at the card which his visitor had sent in.

"The same, sir," replied Allerdyke, setting down his box. "Mr. Ramsay, I presume? I heard of you, Mr. Ramsay, through Wilmingtons, in the City; heard you can be of great use to inventors. I have here," he continued, opening the box, "a railway chair, invented by one of my workmen, a clever fellow. You see, it 'ud do away with the present system of putting wooden blocks in the chairs now used—this would fasten the sleepers and rails together automatically. It is patented—provisionally protected, anyhow—but my man's never got a railway company to try it, so far. Think you can do anything, Mr. Ramsay?"

The hunchback got up from his desk, took the invention out of its box, and carefully inspected it, asking Allerdyke a few shrewd questions about the thing's possibilities which showed the caller that he knew what he was talking about. Then he sat down again and went into business details in a way which impressed Allerdyke—clearly this man, whoever he was, and whatever mystery might attach to him, was a smart individual. Also he had a frank, direct way of talking which gave his visitor a very good first opinion of him.

"Very well, Mr. Allerdyke," he said, in conclusion. "Leave the thing with me, and I will see what I can do. As I say, the proper course will be to get it tried on one of the smaller railway lines—if it answers there, we can, perhaps, induce one of the bigger companies to take it up. I'll do my best."

Allerdyke thanked him and rose. He had certainly done something for his man Gankrodgers, and he had seen Ramsay, or Rayner, at close quarters, but—Ramsay was speaking again. He had picked up Allerdyke's card, and glanced from it to its presenter, half shyly.

"You're the cousin of the Mr. Allerdyke whose name's been in the papers so much in connection with this murder and robbery affair, I suppose?" he said. "I've seen your own name, of course, in the various accounts."

"I am," replied Allerdyke. He had moved towards the door, but he turned and looked at his questioner. "You followed it, then?" he asked.

"Yes," assented Ramsay. "Closely. A curiously intricate case."

"Any solution of it present itself to your mind?" asked Allerdyke in his brusque, downright fashion. "Got any theory?"

Ramsay smiled and shook his finely shaped head. He, too, rose, walking towards the door.

"It's a little early for that, isn't it?" he said. "I've studied these affairs—criminology, you know—for many years. In my opinion, it's a mistake to be too hasty in trying to arrive at solutions. But," he added, with a shrug of his misshapen shoulders, "it's always the way of the police, and of most folk who try to get at the truth. Things that are deep down need some deep digging for!"

"There's the question of the present whereabouts of nearly three hundred thousand pounds' worth of jewels," remarked Allerdyke grimly. "Remember that!"

"Quite so," agreed Ramsay. "But—your own particular and personal desire, as I gather from the newspapers, is to find the murderer of your cousin?"

"Ah!" said Allerdyke. "And it is! Got any ideas on that point?"

Ramsay smiled as he opened the door.

"I think," he said, with a quiet significance. "I think that you'll be having all this mystery explained and cleared up all of a sudden, Mr. Allerdyke, in a way that'll surprise you. These things are like warfare—there's a sudden turn of events, a sudden big event just when you're not expecting it. Well, good-bye—thank you for giving me a chance with your man's invention."

Allerdyke found himself walking up Arundel Street before he had quite realized that this curious interview was over. At the top he paused, staring vacantly at the folk who passed and repassed along the Strand.

"I'd lay a pound to a penny that chap's all right," he muttered to himself. "He's not a wrong 'un—unless he's damned deceitful! All the same, he knows something! What? My conscience!—was there ever such a confounded muddle in this world as this is!"

But the muddle was a deeper one within the next few minutes. He crossed over to his hotel, and as he was entering he met Mrs. Marlow coming out, fresh, dainty, charming, as usual. She stopped at sight of him and held up the little hand-bag which hung from her wrist.

"Oh, Mr. Allerdyke!" she said, opening the bag and taking an envelope from it. "I've something for you. See—here's the photograph your cousin gave me. You were wrong, you see—there's no spot in it—it's a particularly clear print. Look!"

In Allerdyke's big palm she laid the very photograph which, according to all his reckoning, was that which Chettle had found within the cover of Lydenberg's watch.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE POSSIBLE DEATH WARRANT

"Quite a clear print, you see," repeated Mrs. Marlow brightly. "No spot there. You must have been thinking of another."

"Aye, just so," replied Allerdyke absentmindedly. "Another, yes, of course. Aye, to be sure—you're right. No spot on that, certainly."

He was talking aimlessly, confusedly, as he turned the print over in his hand, examining it back and front. And having no excuse for keeping it, he handed it back with a keen look at its owner. What the devil, he asked himself, was this mysterious woman playing at?

"I'm going to have this mounted and framed," said Mrs. Marlow, as she put the photograph back in her bag and turned to go. "I misplaced it some time ago and couldn't lay hands on it, but I came across it by accident this morning, so now I'll take care of it."

She nodded, smiled, and went off into the sunlight outside, and Allerdyke, more puzzled than ever, walked forward into the hotel and towards the restaurant. At its door he met Fullaway, coming out, and in his usual hurry.

Fullaway started at sight of Allerdyke, button-holed him, and led him into a corner.

"Oh, I say, Allerdyke!" he said, in his bustling fashion. "Look here, a word with you. You've no objection, have you?" he went on in subdued tones, "if Van Koon and I have a try for that reward? It doesn't matter to you, or to the Princess, or to Miss Lennard, who gets the reward so long as the criminals are brought to justice and the goods found—eh? And you know fifty thousand is—what it is."

"You've got an idea?" asked Allerdyke, regarding his questioner steadily.

"Frankly, yes—an idea—a notion," answered Fullaway. "Van Koon and I have been discussing the whole affair—just now. He's a smart man, and has had experience in these things on the other side. But, of course, we don't want to give our idea away. We want to work in entire independence of the police, for instance. What we're thinking of requires patience and deep investigation. So we want to work on our own methods. See?"

"It doesn't matter to me who gets the reward—as you say," said Allerdyke slowly. "I want justice. I'm not so much concerned about the jewels as about who killed my cousin. I believe that man Lydenberg did the actual killing—but who was at Lydenberg's back? Find that out, and—"

"Exactly—exactly!" broke in Fullaway. "The very thing! Well—you understand, Allerdyke. Van Koon and I will want to keep our operations to ourselves. We don't want police interference. So, if any of these Scotland Yard chaps come to you here for talk or information, don't bring me into it. And don't expect me to tell what we're doing until we've carried out our investigations. No interim reports, you know, Allerdyke. Personally, I believe we're on the track."