Part 21 (1/2)

Chettle showed his gratification by a start of pleased surprise.

”You have--already!” he exclaimed.

”Already!” replied Allerd.y.k.e. ”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 Allerd.y.k.e. ”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,” a.s.sented Allerd.y.k.e.

”No suspicion roused?” suggested Chettle.

”I don't think so. Of course, you never can tell. I should say,”

continued Allerd.y.k.e, ”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 p.r.i.c.ked his ears.

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

”Found it out this afternoon,” replied Allerd.y.k.e, 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 Yorks.h.i.+remen sharp and shrewd--well, this is a bit more Yorks.h.i.+re 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 Allerd.y.k.e 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 s.h.i.+lling,” answered Allerd.y.k.e. ”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. Allerd.y.k.e. 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 Allerd.y.k.e, letting him out, walked along the corridor with him as far as the lift. And as Allerd.y.k.e 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 Allerd.y.k.e pause as he retraced his steps along the corridor, pause to look over the bal.u.s.trade 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 bal.u.s.trade as Allerd.y.k.e 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, Allerd.y.k.e 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 Allerd.y.k.e 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 pa.s.sed the door from which he had seen Mrs. Marlow emerge he mentally registered the number.