Part 33 (2/2)

”Said they'd be on their way in two minutes, sir,” answered Chettle. ”And it wouldn't take them many minutes to run up here.”

”I wonder what it's all about?” mused the chief. ”Some new development since we left the Yard, of course. Well--I think we may probably find something in this parcel, Chettle, that will surprise us as much as any new development can possibly do. It strikes me--”

”Here they are, sir!” interrupted Chettle. He had lingered on the kerb, looking towards the rise of the road going towards the Marble Arch, and his quick eyes had spotted a closed taxi-cab which came out of the Marlborough Gate at full speed and turned down in their direction. ”Blindway and two others,” he announced. ”Seems to be in force, sir, anyhow!”

The taxi-cab pulled up at the little gate leading into Kensington Gardens by the pumping-station, and Blindway, followed by two other men, hurriedly descended and joined his superior.

”Well, what is it?” demanded the chief. ”Something new? And about this affair?”

Blindway made a gesture suggesting that they should enter the Gardens; once within he drew the chief aside, leaving his companions with Chettle.

”About half an hour ago,” he said, ”a telephone message came on from the City police. They said they'd received some queerish information about this affair, but only particularly about the death of that man down at the hotel in the Docks. Their information ran to this--that the actual murderer has an appointment with some of his a.s.sociates this afternoon at that tea-house in Hyde Park, and that if the City police would send some plain-clothes men up there he'll be pointed out. So the City lot want us to join them, and I was sent along to meet you here, sir--I've brought those two men and of course there's Chettle. We're all to go along to this tea-house, not in a body, naturally, but to sort of drop in, and to wait events. Of course, sir, that last murder occurred in the City, and so the City police want to come in at it, and--”

”No further details?” asked the chief, obviously puzzled. ”Nothing as to who's going to point out the murderer, and so on?”

”Nothing!” replied Blindway. ”At least, nothing reported to us. All we've got to do is to be there, on the spot, and to keep our eyes open for the critical moment.”

”And what time is the critical moment to be?” asked the chief, a little superciliously. ”It all seems remarkably vague, Blindway--why couldn't they give us more news?”

”Don't know, sir--they seemed purposely vague,” replied the detective.

”However, the time fixed is two o'clock. To be there about two--that was the request--at least four of us.”

The chief turned and summoned the other three men.

”You'd better break up,” he said. ”Two of you approach the place from one way--two from another. It's now a quarter-past one--you've plenty of time. Stroll across the park to this spot--I'll join you by two o'clock.

I believe you can get light refreshments at this tea-house; get yourselves something, so as to look like mere loungers--but keep your eyes open.”

”Do you want me, sir?” asked Chettle, eyeing the parcel with evident desire to know what mystery it concealed.

”No--you go with Blindway,” answered the chief. ”He'll tell you what's happened. I must join Mr. Allerd.y.k.e and Mr. Appleyard--then we'll come over to you. Don't take any notice of us.”

The four detectives went off into Hyde Park, and there separated in couples; the chief turned and went along the straight path which runs parallel with Bayswater Road just within the shrubberies of Kensington Gardens. Presently he caught sight of Allerd.y.k.e and Appleyard, who occupied two chairs under a shady hawthorn tree, and he laid hold of another, dragged it to them, and sat down. Each looked a silent inquiry, and the chief, with a smile, held up the parcel.

”Chettle and I,” he said, ”have, in the presence of the manager and manageress of the Pompadour, made a thorough examination of the room and the belongings of the young lady who resides there under the name of Miss Slade. There is not a jot or t.i.ttle of anything there to show that she is also Mrs. Marlow--except one thing. That, Mr. Allerd.y.k.e, is the all-important photograph of your cousin James, which is hanging, in a neat silver frame, over her mantelpiece. What do you think of that, gentlemen?”

”Odd!” said Appleyard, after a moment's reflective silence.

”Very queer!” said Allerd.y.k.e frowning. ”Very queer, indeed--considering.”

”Queer and odd!” a.s.sented the chief. ”As to considering--well, I don't quite know what it is that we are considering. If Miss Slade, alias Mrs.

Marlow, is a member of the gang--if there is one--which killed and robbed James Allerd.y.k.e, it's a decidedly odd and queer thing that she should frame the victim's portrait and hang it where she'll see it last thing at night and first thing in the morning. Most extraordinary! And it's made me think a good deal. I believe you once said, Mr. Allerd.y.k.e, that your cousin was a bit of a ladies' man?”

”Bit that way inclined, was James,” replied Allerd.y.k.e laconically.

”Yes--he fancied the ladies a bit, no doubt. In quite a proper way, you know--liked their society, and so on.”

”Just so!” a.s.sented the chief. ”Well, I wonder if he and Miss Slade, alias Mrs. Marlow, knew each other at all--outside business? But it's not much use to speculate on that just now--we've more urgent matters to attend to. And first--this!”

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