"Damnation!" exclaimed Fullaway. "How the blazes do I know what to make of it! I seem to be surrounded with—God knows what hellish mysteries! Allerdyke, is there a regular devil's conspiracy, or—what is there?"

Allerdyke made a show of looking at the telegram again. In reality, he was considering matters. Should he tell Fullaway what he knew? He was more than a little tempted to do so. But his natural sense of caution and reserve stopped the words before they reached his tongue, and he took another tack.

"You said just now, in talking to Delkin, that you'd the greatest confidence in this Mrs. Marlow, and had the best references with her, Fullaway," he remarked. "What references?"

"Good business references!" answered Fullaway excitedly. "The best! Firms of high standing in the City. Couldn't have had better. Go and ask any of them about her—I'll lay my last dollar they will say the same. Capital secretary—clever woman—thoroughly trustworthy!"

"What do you know about her private life?" asked Allerdyke.

"What the deuce has the woman's private life to do with me?" snapped Fullaway. "I know nothing. So long as she comes here at ten, stops till five, and does her duty—hang her private life!"

"Do you know where she lives?" asked Allerdyke imperturbably. "But of course you do."

"Then I don't!" retorted Fullaway. "Somewhere up town, I believe—West End somewhere. I don't know. I've nothing to do with her private affairs. I never have had anything to do with the private affairs of any employee of mine."

"She makes her private affairs have something to do with you though," said Allerdyke, tapping the telegram significantly. "But, in my opinion, that wire's nothing but an excuse. What're you going to do?"

"Oh, I don't know!" exclaimed Fullaway. "I'm about sick of the whole thing."

Allerdyke pulled out his watch.

"I must go," he said. "I've a business appointment. I'll see you later."

Fullaway made no reply, and Allerdyke left him, went downstairs and sought Gaffney, whom, having found, he led outside to the street.

"How soon can you lay hands on that brother of yours?" he asked.

"Twenty minutes—in a cab, sir," replied Gaffney.

"Get a cab, then, find him, and drive, both of you, to the warehouse," commanded Allerdyke. "You'll find me there."

He himself got a cab, too, and went off to Gresham Street, more puzzled and doubtful than ever. He closeted himself with Ambler Appleyard and told him all the details of the eventful morning, and the manager listened in silence, taking everything in and making his own mental notes. And with his usual acuteness of perception he quickly separated the important from the momentarily unimportant.

"You don't want to bother your head about what Mr. Delkin says just now, Mr. Allerdyke," he said, when Allerdyke had brought this story to an end. "Never mind his theories—there may be a lot in 'em, and there mayn't be any more than his personal opinion in 'em. Never mind, too, what Chilverton wants with Van Koon. Nor if there's any connection between Van Koon and Miss Slade, or Mrs. Marlow. The thing to do is to find—her!"

"You think she's hooked it?" said Allerdyke.

"I should say that something said by some of you at that talk this morning in Fullaway's room has startled her into action," answered Appleyard. "Now let's get at facts. You say she sent that wire from the East Strand post Office within ten minutes of your leaving her? Very well—I should say she was on her way to Arundel Street to see Rayner, alias Ramsay. I wish we'd had a constant watch kept on him. But we'll soon repair that if you've sent for young Gaffney."

The two Gaffneys arrived at that moment and Appleyard, after some further talk, assigned them their duties. Gaffney, the chauffeur, was to go at once and get himself a room at an inn in close proximity to the Pompadour Hotel, so that he would be at Appleyard's disposal at any hour of the coming evening and night. Albert Gaffney, the clerk, was to devote himself to watching Rayner. He was to follow Rayner wherever Rayner went from the time of his leaving Clytemnestra House that afternoon—even if Rayner should leave town by motor or by train he was to follow. For, as Appleyard sagely observed, it was not likely that Mrs. Marlow, alias Miss Slade, would return to the Pompadour Hotel that night if her fears had been aroused by what had taken place that morning, and it was a reasonable presumption that if she and Rayner were in league she would have communicated with him on leaving Fullaway's office, and that they would meet again somewhere before the day was over.

"The only thing now," said Appleyard, when the two Gaffneys had been presented with funds sufficient to carry each through all possible immediate emergencies, "is to arrange for a meeting to-night. There are two matters we want to be certain about. First, if Albert Gaffney witnesses any meeting between Rayner and Miss Slade, and, in that case, if he can tell us where they go and what they do. Second, if they both return, or either of them returns to the Pompadour to-night. So it had better be near the Pompadour—somewhere in that district, anyhow. Can you suggest any place?" he continued, turning to the chauffeur. "You know that district well, don't you?"

"Tell you the very spot, sir," answered Gaffney promptly. "Lancaster Gate itself, sir. Close by there, convenient pub, sir—stands back a bit from the road. Bar-parlour, sir—quiet corners. What time, sir?"

Appleyard fixed half-past eleven. By that time, he said, he should know if Mr. Rayner and Miss Slade had returned to the Pompadour; by that time, too, Albert Gaffney would be in a position to report his own doings and progress. And so the two Gaffneys went off on their respective missions, and Allerdyke looked at his manager and made a grimace.

"It's like a lot of blind men seeking for something they couldn't see if it was shoved under their very noses, Ambler!" he said cynically. "Is it any good?"

"Maybe," replied Appleyard. "That Albert Gaffney's a smart chap—he'll not lose sight of Rayner once he begins to track him. And I'm certain as certain can be that if Miss Slade's in a hole it's Rayner she'll turn to. Well—we can only wait now. What're you going to do, Mr. Allerdyke?"

"Let's have a bit of a relief," answered, Allerdyke suddenly. "Let's dine together somewhere and go to a theatre or something until it's time to keep this appointment. And not a word more of the whole thing till then!"

"You forget that I've got to look in at the Pompadour last thing to see if those two are there as usual," remarked Appleyard. "But that'll only take a few minutes—I can call there on our way to the rendezvous. All right—no more of it until half-past eleven, then."

Albert Gaffney was already in a quiet corner of the bar-parlour of the appointed meeting-place when the other three arrived there. Appleyard had already ascertained that neither Rayner nor Miss Slade had returned to the Pompadour; Gaffney, the chauffeur, who had been keeping an eye on the exterior of that establishment, had nothing to tell. And Albert's face was somewhat dismal, and his eye inclined to something like an aggrieved surliness, as he joined the new-comers and answered their first question.

"It's not my fault, gentlemen," he whispered, bending towards the others over the little table at which they were all seated. "But the truth is—I've been baulked! At the last moment as you may term it. Just when things were getting really interesting!"

"Have you seen—anything?" asked Appleyard.

"I'll give you it in proper order, sir," replied Albert Gaffney. "I've seen both of 'em—followed 'em, until this confounded accident happened. This is the story of it. I kept watch there, outside C. House—you know where I mean—till near on to six o'clock. Then he came out. But he didn't get into his motor, though it was waiting for him. He sent it away. Then he walked to the Temple Station, and I heard him book for Cannon Street. So did I, and followed him. He got out at Cannon Street and went up into the main line station and to the bookstall. There he met her—she was waiting. They talked a bit, walking about; then they went into the hotel. I had an idea that perhaps they were going to dine there, so as I was togged up for any eventualities, I followed 'em in. They did dine there—so did I, keeping an eye on 'em. They sat some time over and after their dinner, as if they were waiting for something or somebody. At last a man—better-class commercial traveller-looking sort of man—came in and went up to them. He sat down and had a glass of wine, and they all three talked—very confidential talk, you could see. At last they all left and went down to the yard outside the station and got into a taxi-cab—all three. I got another, gave the driver a quiet hint as to what I was after, and told him to keep the other cab in view. So he did—for a time. They went first to a little restaurant near Liverpool Street Station—she and the commercial-looking chap got out and went in; R. stopped in the cab. The other two came back after a bit with another man—similar sort—and all three joined R. Then they went off towards Aldgate way—and we were keeping nicely behind 'em when all of a sudden a blooming 'bus came to grief right between us and them, and blocked the traffic! And though I nearly broke my neck in trying to get through and spot them, it was no use. They'd clean disappeared. But!—I've got the number of the cab they took from Cannon Street."

Appleyard nodded approval.

"Good!" he said. "That's something, Gaffney—a good deal. We can work on from that."

"Well?" he continued, turning to Allerdyke. "I think there's nothing else we can do to-night? We'd better meet, all of us, at Gresham Street, at, say, ten to-morrow morning; then I shall be able to say if they return to the Pompadour to-night. It's my impression they won't—but we shall see."

Allerdyke presently drove him to his hotel, wondering all the way what these last doings might really mean. They were surprising enough, but there was another surprise awaiting him. As he walked into the Waldorf the hall-porter stopped him.

"There's a gentleman for you, sir, in the waiting-room," he said. "Been waiting a good hour. Name of Chettle."



CHAPTER XXIX

THE PARCEL FROM HULL

Chettle sat alone in the waiting-room, a monument of patient resignation to his fate. His hands were bunched on the head of his walking-stick, his chin propped on his hands; his eyes were bent on a certain spot on the carpet with a fixed stare. And when Allerdyke entered he sprang up as if roused from a fitful slumber.

"I should ha' been asleep in another minute, Mr. Allerdyke," he said apologetically. "Been waiting over an hour, sir—and I'm dog-tired. I've been at it, hard at it! every minute since I left you. And—I had to come. I've news."

"Come up," said Allerdyke. "I've news, too—it's been naught else but news all day. You haven't seen Fullaway while you've been waiting?"

"Seen nobody but the hotel folks," answered the detective. He followed Allerdyke up to his private sitting-room and sighed wearily as he dropped into a chair. "I'm dog-tired," he repeated. "Fair weary!"

"Have a drink," said Allerdyke, setting out his decanter and a syphon. "Take a stiff 'un—I'll have one myself. I'm tired, too. I wouldn't like this game to be on long, Chettle—it's too exhausting. But, by the Lord Harry!—I believe it's coming to an end at last!"

The detective, who had gladly helped himself to Allerdyke's whisky, took a long pull at his glass and sighed with relief.

"I believe so myself, Mr. Allerdyke," he said. "I do, indeed!—things are clearing, sir, though Heaven knows they're thick enough still. You say you've fresh news!"

Allerdyke lighted a cigar and pushed the box to his guest.

"Your news first," he said. "I daresay it's a bit out of the complete web—let's see if we can fit it in."

"It's this," answered Chettle, pulling his chair nearer to the table at which he and his host sat. "When I got back to Hull they told me at the police headquarters that a young man had been in two or three times, while I was away, asking if he could see the London detective who was down about the Station Hotel affair. They told him I'd gone up to town again, and tried to find out what he wanted, but he wouldn't tell them anything—said he'd either see me or go up to London himself. So then they let him know I was coming back, and told him he'd probably find me there at noon to-day. And at noon to-day he turns up at the police-station—a young fellow about twenty-five or so, who looked like what he was, a clerk. A very cute, sharp chap he was, the sort that's naturally keen about his own interests—name of Martindale—and before he'd say a word he wanted to see my credentials, and made me swear to treat what he said as private, and then he pulled out a copy of that reward bill of yours, and wanted to know a rare lot about that, all of which amounted to wanting to find out what chance he had of getting hold of some of the fifty thousand, if not all. And," continued Chettle with a laugh, "I'd a lot of talking and explaining and wheedling to do before he'd tell anything."

"Had he aught to tell?" asked Allerdyke. "So many of 'em think they have, and then they haven't."

"Oh, he'd something to tell!" replied Chettle. "Right enough, he'd a good deal to tell. This—he told me at last, as if every word he let out was worth a ransom, that he was a parcels office clerk in the North Eastern Railway Station at Hull, and that since the 13th of May until the day before yesterday he'd been away in the North of Scotland on his holidays—been home to his people, in fact—he is a Scotsman, which, of course, accounts for his keenness about the money. Now, then—on the night of May 12th—the night, as you know, Mr. Allerdyke, of your cousin's supposed murder, but anyway, of his arrival at Hull—this young man Martindale was on duty in the parcels office till a very late hour. About ten to a quarter past ten, as near as he could recollect, a gentleman came into the parcels office, carrying a small, square parcel, done up in brown paper and sealed in several places with black wax. He wanted to know when the next express would be leaving for London, and if he could send the parcel by it. Martindale told him there would be an express leaving for Selby very shortly, and there would be a connection there for a Great Northern express to King's Cross. The gentleman then wanted to know what time his parcel would be likely to be delivered in London if he sent it by that train. Martindale told him that as near as he could say it would be delivered by noon on the next morning, and added that he could, by paying an extra fee, have it specially registered and delivered. The gentleman at once acceded to this, handed the parcel over, paid for it, and left. And in a few minutes after that, Martindale himself gave the parcel to the guard of the outgoing train."

Chettle paused for a moment, and took a reflective pull at his glass.

"Now, then," he went on, after an evident recollecting of his facts, "Martindale, of course, never saw the gentleman again, and dismissed such a very ordinary matter from his mind. Early next morning he went off on his holiday—where he went, right away up in Sutherland, papers were few and far between. He only heard mere bits of news about all this affair. But when he got back he turned up the Hull newspapers, and became convinced that the man who sent that parcel was—your cousin!"

"Aye!" said Allerdyke, nodding his head. "Aye! I expected that."

"He was sure it was your cousin," continued Chettle, "from the description of him in the papers, and from one or two photos of him that had appeared, though, as you know, Mr. Allerdyke, those were poor things. But to make sure, I showed him the photo which is inside Lydenberg's watch-case. 'That's the man!' he said at once. 'I should have known him again anywhere—I'd a particularly good look at him.' Very well—that established who the sender of the parcel was. Now then, the next thing was—to whom was it sent. Well, this Martindale had copied down the name and address from the station books, and he handed me the slip of paper. Can you make any guess at it, Mr. Allerdyke?"

"Damn guess-work!" replied Allerdyke. "Speak out!"

Chettle leaned nearer, with an instinctive glance at the door. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

"That parcel was addressed to Franklin Fullaway, Esq., The Waldorf Hotel, Aldwych, London," he said. "There!"

Allerdyke slowly rose from his seat, stared at his visitor, half-moved across the floor, as if he had some instinctive notion of going somewhere—and then suddenly sat down again.

"Aye!" he said. "Aye!—but was it ever delivered?"

"I'm coming to that," replied Chettle. "That, of course, is the big thing—the prime consideration. I heard all this young fellow Martindale had to tell—nothing much more than that, except small details as to what would be the likely progress of the parcel, and then I gave him strict instructions to keep his own counsel until I saw him again—after which I caught the afternoon train to town. Martindale had told me where the parcel would be delivered from, so as soon as I arrived at King's Cross I went to the proper place. I had to tell 'em, of course, who I was, and what I was after, and to produce my credentials before they turned up their books and papers to trace the delivery of the parcel. That, of course, wasn't a long or difficult matter, as I had the exact date—May 13th. They soon put the delivery sheet of that particular morning before me. And there it all was—"

"And—it was delivered to and received by—who?" broke in Allerdyke eagerly. "Who, man?"

"Signed for by Mary Marlow for Franklin Fullaway," answered Chettle in the same low tones. "Delivered—here—about half-past twelve. So—there you are! That is—if you know where we are!"

Allerdyke, whose cigar had gone out, relighted it with a trembling hand.

"My God!" he said in a fierce, concentrated voice as he flung the match away. "This is getting—you're sure there was no mistaking the signature?" he went on, interrupting himself. "No mistake about it?"

"It was a woman's writing, and an educated woman's writing, anyway," said Chettle. "And plain enough. But there was one thing that rather struck me and that they couldn't explain, though they said I could have it explained by inquiry of the clerk who had the books in charge on May 13th and the boy who actually delivered the parcel—neither of 'em was about this evening."

"What?" demanded Allerdyke.

"Why, this," answered Chettle. "The parcel had evidently been signed for twice. The line on which the signatures were placed had two initials in pencil on it—scribbled hurriedly. The initials were 'F.F.' Over that was the other in ink—what I tell you: Mary Marlow for Frank Fullaway."

Allerdyke let his mind go back to the events of May 13th.

"You say the parcel was delivered here at twelve-thirty noon on May 13th?" he said presently. "Of course, Fullaway wasn't here then. He'd set off to me at Hull two or three hours before that. He joined me at Hull soon after two that day. And what I'm wondering is—does he know of that parcel's arrival here in his absence. Did he ever get it? If he did, why has he never mentioned it to me? Coming, as it did, from—James!"

"There's a much more important question than that, Mr. Allerdyke," said Chettle. "This—what was in that parcel?"

Allerdyke started. So far he had been concentrating on the facts given him by the detective—further he had not yet gone.

"Why!" he asked, a sudden suspicion beginning to dawn on him. "Good God!—you don't suggest—"

"My belief, Mr. Allerdyke," said Chettle, quietly and emphatically, "is that the parcel contained the Russian lady's jewels! I do believe it—and I'll lay anything I'm right, too."

Allerdyke shook his head.

"Nay, nay!" he said incredulously. "I can't think that James would send a quarter of a million pounds' worth of jewels in a brown paper parcel by train! Come, now!"

Chettle shook his head, too—but in contradiction, "I've known of much stranger things than that, Mr. Allerdyke," he said confidently. "Very much stranger things. Your cousin, according to your account of him, was an uncommonly sharp man. He was quick at sizing up things and people. He was the sort—as you've represented him to me—that was what's termed fertile in resource. Now, I've been theorizing a bit as I came up in the train; one's got to in my line, you know. Supposing your cousin got an idea that thieves were on his track?—supposing he himself fancied that there was danger in that hotel at Hull? What would occur to him but to get rid of his valuable consignment, as we'll call it? And what particular danger was there in sending a very ordinary-looking parcel as he did? The thing's done every day—by train or post every day valuable parcels of diamonds, for instance, are sent between London and Paris. The chances of that parcel being lost between Hull and this hotel were—infinitesimal! I honestly believe, sir, that those jewels were in that parcel—sent to be safe."

"In that case you'd have thought he'd have wired Fullaway of their dispatch," said Allerdyke.

"How do we know that he didn't intend to, first thing in the morning?" asked Chettle. "He probably did intend to—but he wasn't there to do it in the morning, poor gentleman! No—and now the thing is, Mr. Allerdyke—prompt action! What do you think, sir?"

"You mean—go and tell everything to your people at headquarters?" asked Allerdyke.

"I shall have to," answered Chettle. "There's no option for me—now. What I meant was—are you prepared to tell them all you know?"

"Yes!" replied Allerdyke. "At least, I will be in the morning—first thing. I'll just tell you how things have gone to-day. Now," he continued, when he had given Chettle a full account of the recent happenings, "you stay here to-night—you can have my chauffeur's room, next to mine—and in the morning I'll telephone to Appleyard to meet us outside of New Scotland Yard, and after a word or two with him, we'll see your chief, and then—"

Chettle shook his head.

"If that woman got a night's start, Mr. Allerdyke—" he began.

"Can't help it now," said Allerdyke decisively. "Besides, you don't know what Appleyard mayn't have learned during the night."

But when Appleyard met them in Whitehall next morning, in response to Allerdyke's telephone summons, his only news was that neither Rayner nor Miss Slade had returned to the Pompadour, and without another word Allerdyke motioned Chettle to lead the way to the man in authority.



CHAPTER XXX

THE PACKET IN THE SAFE

It was to a hastily called together gathering of high police officials that the three visitors told all they knew. One after another they related their various stories—Chettle of his doings and discoveries at Hull, Allerdyke of what had gone on at the hotel, Appleyard of the mysterious double identity of the woman who was Miss Slade in one place and Mrs. Marlow in another. The officials listened quietly and absorbedly, rarely interrupting the narrators except to ask a searching question. And in the end they talked together apart, after which all went away except the man who had kept his hands on the reins from the beginning. He turned to his visitors with an air of decision.

"Well, of course, there's but one thing to be done, now," he said. "We must get a warrant for this woman's arrest at once. We must also get a search warrant and examine her belongings at that private hotel you've told us of, Mr. Appleyard. All that shall be done immediately. But first I want you to tell me one or two things. What are those two men you spoke of doing—the Gaffneys?"

"One of them, the chauffeur, is hanging about the Pompadour," replied Appleyard. "The other—Albert—has gone down to Cannon Street to see if he can trace the driver of the taxi-cab in which Rayner and Miss Slade drove away from there last night."

"He'll do no harm in trying to find that out," observed the chief. "But I should like to see him—I want to ask some questions about the man who joined those two after dinner at Cannon Street last night, and the other man whom he saw them take up near Liverpool Street Station. Will he keep himself in touch with your warehouse in Gresham Street?"

"Sure to," answered Appleyard.

"Then just telephone to your people there, and tell them to tell him, if he comes in asking for you, to come along and seek you here," said the chief. "I'm afraid I can't spare either you or Mr. Allerdyke, for your joint information'll be wanted presently for these warrants, and when we've got them I want you to go with me—both of you—to the Pompadour."

"You're going to search?" asked Allerdyke when Appleyard had gone to the telephone. "You think you may find something—there?"

"There's enough evidence to justify a search," answered the chief. "Naturally we want to know all we can. But I should say that if she's mixed up with a gang, and if they've got those jewels through her—as seems uncommonly likely—she'll have been ready for a start at any minute, and the probability is we'll find nothing to help us. The great thing, of course, will be to get hold of the woman herself. It's a most unfortunate thing that Albert Gaffney was stopped from following that cab, last night—I've no opinion, Mr. Allerdyke, of your amateur detective as a rule, but from Mr. Appleyard's account of him, this one seems to have done very well. If we only knew where those two went—"

Appleyard presently came back from the telephone with a face alive with fresh news.

"Albert Gaffney's at the warehouse now," he announced. "I've just had a word with him. He found the taxi-cab driver an hour ago, and he got the information he wanted. And I'm afraid it's—nothing!"

"What is it, anyhow?" asked the chief, with a smile. "Perhaps Albert Gaffney doesn't know its value."

"The man drove them, all four, to the corner of Whitechapel Church," said Appleyard. "There he set them down, and there he left them. That's all."

"Well, that's something, anyway," remarked the chief. "It carries the thing on another stage. Now we'll leave that and attend to our own business."

The Pompadour Private Hotel, like most establishments of its class in Bayswater, was a place of peace and of comparative solitude during the greater part of the day. It was busy enough up to ten o'clock in the morning, and it began to be busy enough again by six o'clock in the evening, but from ten to six more than two-thirds of its denizens were not to be found within its walls. The business man had gone to the City; the professional women had departed to their offices; nothing of humanity but a few elderly widows and spinsters, and an old gentleman or two were left in the various rooms. Everything, therefore, was quiet enough when the chief, accompanied by Chettle, drove up, entered the hall, and asked to see the manager and manageress. As for Allerdyke and Appleyard, who naturally felt considerable dislike to appearing on this particular scene of operations, they were a few hundred yards away, walking about just within the confines of Kensington Gardens, and waiting with more or less patience until the police officials came to them with news of the result of the search.

The manageress of the hotel, a smart lady who wore dignified black gowns all day long—stuff in the morning, and silk at night as if she were a barrister, gradually advancing in grandeur—gazed at the two callers with some suspicion as she ushered them into a private room at the back of her office. The chief, an irreproachably attired man, might have been an army gentleman, she thought; an instinctive wonder rose in her mind as to whether he was not some elderly man of standing who, accompanied by his valet, desired to arrange about a suite of rooms. But his first words gave her an unpleasant shock—she felt for all the world as if somebody had suddenly turned a shower of ice-cold water on her.

"Now, ma'am," said the chief, "your husband the manager is out, and you are in sole and responsible charge, I understand? Pray don't be alarmed—this is nothing that concerns you or your affairs, personally, and we will endeavor to arrange everything so that you have no annoyance. The fact of the case is, we are police officers from the Criminal Investigation Department at New Scotland Yard, and I hold two warrants, just granted by a justice of peace, which are in relation to an inmate of your hotel."

The manageress dropped into a chair and stared at her visitors. Police officers? Warrants? Justices? It was the first time in her highly respectable Bayswater existence that she had ever been brought into contact with these dreadful things. And—an inmate of her establishment!

"Oh, you must be mistaken!" she exclaimed in horror-stricken accents. "A warrant?—that means you want to arrest somebody. An inmate—surely none of my servants—"

"Nothing to do with servants," interrupted the chief. "I said an inmate. Pray don't be alarmed. We want a young lady who is known to you as Miss Mary Slade."

The manageress got up as quickly as she had sat down. For one moment she gazed at her visitor as if he had demanded her very life—the next her lip curled in scorn.

"Miss Slade!" she exclaimed. "Impossible, sir! Miss Slade is a young lady of the very highest respectability—she has resided in this hotel for three years!"

"I am quite prepared to believe that a residence of three months under your roof is enough to confer an irreproachable character on any one, ma'am," replied the chief with a polite smile. "But the fact remains, I have here a warrant for Miss Slade's arrest—never mind on what charge—and here another empowering me to search her room or rooms, her trunk, any property she has in this house. And as time presses I must ask you to give us every facility in the performance of our unpleasant duty. But first a question or two. Miss Slade is not at home?"

"She is not!" replied the manageress emphatically.

"And I think she did not return home last night?" suggested the chief.

"No—she didn't," assented the much perplexed woman. "That's quite true."

"Was that unusual?" asked the chief.

The manageress bit her lip. She did not want to talk, but she had a vague idea that the law compelled speech.

"Well, I don't know what it's all about," she said, "and I don't want to say anything that would bring trouble to Miss Slade, but—it was unusual. For two reasons. I've never known Miss Slade to be away from here for a night except when she went for her usual month's holiday, and I'm surprised that she should stop away without giving me word or sending a telephone message."

"Then her absence was unusual," said the chief smiling. "Now, was there anything else that was unusual, last night—in connection with it?"

The manageress started and looked at her visitor as if she half suspected him of possessing the power of seeing through brick walls.

"Well," she said, a little reluctantly, "there was certainly another of our guests away last night, too—one who scarcely ever is away, and certainly never without letting us know that he's going away. And it's quite true he's a very great friend of Miss Slade's—somebody did say, jokingly, this morning, that perhaps they'd run away and got married."

"Ah!" said the chief, with another smile. "I scarcely think Miss Slade would contract such an important engagement at this moment, she has evidently much else to think about. But now let us see Miss Slade's apartment, if you please, and I shall be obliged to you, ma'am, if you will accompany us."

Not only did the manageress accompany them, but the manager also, who just then arrived and was filled with proper horror to hear that such things were happening. But, being a man, he knew that it is every citizen's duty to assist the police, and he accepted his fate cheerfully, and bade his wife give the gentlemen every help that lay in her power. After which both conducted the two visitors to Miss Slade's room, and became fascinated in acting as spectators.

Miss Slade's apartment was precisely that of any other young lady of refined taste. It was a good-sized, roomy apartment, half bedroom, half sitting-room, and it was bright and gay with books and pictures, and evidences of literary and artistic fancies and leanings. And Chettle, taking a first comprehensive look round, went straight to the mantelpiece and pointed out a certain neatly framed photograph to his superior.

"That's it, sir," he said in a low voice. "That's what the other was taken from. You know, sir—Mr. James A. Mr. Marshall A. said she said she was going to have it framed. Odd, ain't it, sir?—if she really is implicated."

The chief agreed with his man. It was certainly a very odd thing that Miss Slade, alias Mrs. Marlow, if she really had any concern with the murder of James Allerdyke, should put his photograph in a fairly expensive silver frame, and hang it where she could look at it every day. But, as Chettle sagely remarked, you never can tell, and you never can account, and you never know, and meanwhile there was the urgent business on hand.

The business on hand came to nothing. Manager and manageress watched with interested amazement while the two searchers went through everything in that room with a thoroughness and rapidity produced by long practice. They were astounded at the deftness with which the heavy-looking Mr. Chettle explored drawers and trunks, and the military-looking chief peered into wardrobes and cupboards and examined desks and tables. But they were not so much astonished as the two detectives themselves were. For in all that room—always excepting the photograph of James Allerdyke—there was not a single object, a scrap of paper, anything whatever, which connected the Miss Slade of the Pompadour with the Mrs. Marlow of Fullaway's or bore reference to the matter in hand. The searchers finally retired utterly baffled.

"Drawn blank," murmured the chief good-humouredly. He turned to the lookers-on. "I suppose you have nothing of Miss Slade's?" he said. "Nothing confined to your care, eh?"

The manageress glanced at her husband, with whom she had kept up a whispered conversation. The manager nodded.

"Better tell them," he said. "No good keeping anything back."

"Ah!" said the chief. "You have something?"

"A small parcel," admitted the manageress, "which she gave me a few days ago to lock up in our safe. She said it contained something valuable, and she hadn't anything to lock it up in. It's in the safe now."

"I'm afraid we must see it," said the chief.

At the foot of the stairs the hall-porter accosted the party and looked at the chief narrowly.

"Name of Chettle, sir?" he asked. "You're wanted at our telephone—urgent."

The chief motioned to Chettle, who went off with the hall-porter; he himself followed the manageress into her office. She unlocked a safe, rummaged amongst its contents, and handed him a small square parcel, done up in brown paper and sealed with black wax. Before he could open it, Chettle returned, serious and puzzled, and whispered to him. Then, with the shortest of leave-takings, the two officers hurried away from the Pompadour, the chief carrying the little parcel tightly grasped in his right hand.



CHAPTER XXXI

THE HYDE PARK TEA-HOUSE

Once outside the Pompadour Hotel the chief and his subordinate hurried at a great pace towards the Lancaster Gate entrance to Kensington Gardens. And when they had crossed Bayswater Road the superior pulled himself up, took a breath, and looked around him.

"No sign of them yet, Chettle," he observed. "Did he say at once?"

"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 associates 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. Allerdyke 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 Allerdyke 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 tittle of anything there to show that she is also Mrs. Marlow—except one thing. That, Mr. Allerdyke, 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 Allerdyke frowning. "Very queer, indeed—considering."

"Queer and odd!" assented 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 Allerdyke, 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. Allerdyke, that your cousin was a bit of a ladies' man?"

"Bit that way inclined, was James," replied Allerdyke 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!" assented 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!"

He had put a copy of a morning newspaper round the small brown paper parcel, and now took it off and showed the parcel itself to the two wondering men. One of them at any rate uttered a sharp exclamation.

"Brown paper, sealed with black wax!" said Allerdyke, remembering what Chettle had told him. "Good Lord—what—"

"I don't suppose this is the original brown paper, nor these the original dabs of black wax," remarked the chief as he produced a pocket pen-knife. "But this parcel, gentlemen, was recently confided by Miss Slade to the care of the manageress of the Pompadour, to be put in the hotel safe—from which it was produced to me twenty minutes ago. And—I am now going to see what it contains."

The others sat in absorbed silence while the chief delicately removed the wrappings of the mysterious parcel. A sheet of brown paper, a sheet of cartridge paper beneath it—and within these very ordinary envelopings an old cigar-box, loosely tied about with a bit of knotted string.

"Now for it!" said the chief. "The box contains—"

He raised the lid as the other two leaned nearer. A stray ray of sunlight, filtering through the swaying boughs of the hawthorn, shot down on the box as the chief lifted a wad of soft paper and revealed a glittering mass of pearls and diamonds.

"The Princess Nastirsevitch's jewels!" said the chief softly. "That's just what I expected ever since the manageress gave me this parcel. This, of course, is the parcel which your cousin sent that night from Hull, Mr. Allerdyke. It fell into Mrs. Marlow's hands—alias Miss Slade—and here it is! That's all right."

The other two men stared at the contents of the cigar-box, then at the chief, then at each other. A deep silence had fallen—it was some minutes before Allerdyke broke it.

"All wrong, I should say!" he muttered. "However, if those are the things—I only say if, mind—I suppose we're a step nearer to something else. But—what?"

The chief, who appeared to both of them to be strangely phlegmatic about the whole affair, proceeded to close the box, re-invest it in its wrappings, and tie it about with the original string.

"We are certainly a step nearer to a good deal," he said, making a neat job of his parcel and patting it affectionately as if he had been a milliner's apprentice doing up a choice confection. "And the next thing we do is to take a walk together into Hyde Park. On the way I will tell you why we are going there—that is, I will tell you what I know of the reason for such an expedition. It isn't much—but it has certain possibilities."

The two North-countrymen listened with great curiosity as they marched across the grass towards the tea-house. Each possessed the North-country love of the mysterious and the bizarre—this last development tickled their fancy and stirred their imagination.

"What on earth d'ye make out of it all?" asked Allerdyke. "Gad!—it's more like a children's game of hide-and-seek in an old house of nooks and corners than what I should have imagined police proceedings would be. What say you, Ambler?"

"I don't know how much romance and adventure there usually are in police proceedings," replied Appleyard cautiously.

"A good answer, Mr. Appleyard," said the chief laughing. "Ah, there's a lot more of both than civilians would think, in addition to all the sordid and dismal details. What do I make out of it, Mr. Appleyard? Why—I think somebody has all this time been making a special investigation of this mystery for himself, and that at last he's going to wind it up with a sensational revelation to—us! Don't you be surprised if you've an application for that fifty thousand pound reward before to-night!"

"You really think that?" exclaimed Allerdyke incredulously.

"I shouldn't be surprised," answered the chief, "Something considerable is certainly at hand. Now let us settle our plan of campaign. This tea-garden, I remember, is a biggish place. We will sit down at one of the tables—we will appear to be three quiet gentlemen disposed to take a cup of coffee with our cigars or cigarettes—we will be absorbed in our own conversation and company, but at the same time we will look about us. Therefore, use your eyes, gentlemen, as much as you like—but don't appear to take any particular interest in anything you see, and don't openly recognize any person you set eyes on."

It was a very warm and summer-like day, and the lawns around the tea-house were filled with people, young and old. Some were drinking tea, some coffee; some were indulging in iced drinks. Nursemaids and children were much in evidence under the surrounding trees; waitresses were flitting about hither and thither: there was nothing to suggest that this eminently London park scene was likely to prove the setting of the last act of a drama.

"You're much more likely to see and to recognize than we are," remarked Allerdyke, as the three gathered round a table on the edge of the crowd. "For my part I see nothing but men, women, and children—except that I also see Chettle, sitting across yonder with another man who's no doubt one of your lot."

"Just so," assented the chief. He gave an order for coffee to a passing waitress, lighted a cigar which Allerdyke offered him, and glanced round as if he were looking at nothing in particular. "Just so. Well, I see my own four men—I also see at least six detectives who belong to the City police, and there may be more. But I know those six personally. They are spread about, all over the place, and I daresay that every man is very much on the stretch, innocent enough as he looks."

"Six!" exclaimed Appleyard. "And four of yours! That looks as if they expected to have to tackle a small army!"

"You never know what you may have to tackle in affairs like this," replied the chief. "Nothing like having reserves in hand, you know. Now let me give you a tip. It is almost exactly two o'clock. Never mind the people who are already here, gentlemen. Keep your eyes open on any new-comers. Look out—quietly—for folk who seem to drop in as casually as we do. Look, for example, at those two well-dressed men who are coming across the sward there, swinging their sticks. They—"

Allerdyke suddenly bent his head towards the table.

"Careful!" he said. "Gad!—I know one of 'em, anyhow. Van Koon, as I live!"



CHAPTER XXXII

THE CHILVERTON ANTI-CLIMAX

The chief allowed himself to take a quick searching glance at the two men he had indicated. He had already heard of Van Koon and of his sudden disappearance from the hotel after the chance encounter with Chilverton, and he now regarded him with professional interest.

"The tall man, you mean?" he asked.

"Just so," answered Allerdyke. "The other man I don't know. But that's Van Koon. What's he here for, now? Is he in this, after all?"

The chief made no reply. He was furtively watching the two men, who had dropped into chairs at a vacant table beneath the shade of the trees and were talking to a waitress. Having taken a good look at Van Koon, he turned his attention to Van Koon's companion, a little, dapper man, smartly dressed in bright blue serge, and finished off with great care in all his appointments. He seemed to be approaching middle age; there were faint traces of grey in his pointed beard and upward-twisted moustaches; he carried his years, however, in very jaunty fashion, and his white Homburg hat, ornamented with a blue ribbon, was set at a rakish angle on the side of his close-cropped head. In his right eye he wore a gold-rimmed monocle; just then he was bringing it to bear an the waitress who stood between himself and his companion.

"You don't know the other man, either of you?" asked the chief suddenly.

Allerdyke shook his head, but Appleyard nodded.

"I know that chap by sight," he said. "I've seen him in the City—about Threadneedle Street—two or three times of late. He's always very smartly dressed—I took him for a foreigner of some sort."

The chief turned to his coffee.

"Well—never mind him," he said. "Pay no attention—so long as that man is Van Koon, I'll watch him quietly. But you may be sure he has come here on the same business that has brought us here. I—"

Allerdyke, whose sharp eyes were perpetually moving round the crowded enclosure and the little groups which mingled outside it, suddenly nudged the chief's elbow.

"Miss Slade!" he whispered. "And—Rayner!"

Appleyard had caught sight of his two fellow inmates of the Pompadour at the very moment in which Allerdyke espied them. He slightly turned away and bent his head; Allerdyke followed his example.

"You can't mistake them," he said to the chief. "I've described the man to you—a hunchback. They're crossing through the crowd towards the tea-house door."

"And they've gone in there," replied the chief in another minute. "Um!—this is getting more mysterious than ever. I wish I could get a word with some of our men who really know something! It seems to me—"

But at that moment Blindway came strolling along, his nose in the air, his eyes fixed on the roofs of the houses outside the park, and he quietly dropped a twisted scrap of paper at his superior's feet as he passed. The chief picked it up, spread it out on the marble-topped table, and read its message aloud to his companions.

"City men say the informant is here and will indicate the men to be arrested in a few minutes."

The chief tore the scrap of paper into minute shreds and dropped them on the grass.

"Things are almost at the crisis," he murmured with a smile. "It seems that we, gentlemen, are to play the part of spectators. The next thing to turn up—"

"Is Fullaway!" suddenly exclaimed Allerdyke, thrown off his guard and speaking aloud. "And, by Gad!—he's got that man Chilverton with him. This—by the Lord Harry, he's caught sight of us, too!"

Fullaway was coming quickly up the lawn from the direction of the Serpentine; he looked unusually alert, vigorous, and bustling; by his side, hurrying to keep pace with him, was the New York detective. And Fullaway's keen eyes, roving about, fell on Allerdyke and the chief and he made through the crowd in their direction, beckoning Chilverton to follow.

"Hullo—hullo!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand on Allerdyke's shoulder, nodding to the chief, and staring inquisitively at Appleyard. "So you're here, too, eh, Allerdyke? It wasn't you who sent me that mysterious message, was it?"

"What message?" growled Allerdyke. "Be careful! Don't attract attention—there are things going on here, I promise you! Drop into that chair, man—tell Chilverton to sit down. What message are you talking about?"

Fullaway, quick to grasp the situation, sat down in a chair which Appleyard pulled forward and motioned his companion to follow his example.

"I got a queer message—typewritten—on a sheet of notepaper which bore no address, about an hour ago," he said. "It told me that if I came here, to this Hyde Park tea-house, at two o'clock, I'd have this confounded mystery explained. No signature—nothing to show who or where it came from. So I set out. And just as I was stepping into a taxi to come on here, I met Chilverton, so he came along with me. What brings you, then? Similar message, eh? And what—"

"Hush!" whispered Appleyard. "Miss Slade's coming out of the tea-house! And who's the man that's with her?"

All five men glanced covertly over their shoulders at the open door of the tea-house, some twenty to thirty yards away. Down its steps came Miss Slade, accompanied by a man whom none of them had ever seen before—a well-built, light-complexioned, fair-haired man, certainly not an Englishman, but very evidently of Teutonic extraction, who was talking volubly to his companion and making free use of his hands to point or illustrate his conversation. And when he saw this man, the chief turned quickly to Allerdyke and intercepted a look which Allerdyke was about to give him—the same thought occurred to both. Here was the man described by the hotel-keeper of Eastbourne Terrace and the shabby establishment away in the Docks!

"Miss Slade!" exclaimed Fullaway. "What on earth are you talking about? That's my secretary, Mrs. Mar—"

"Sh!" interrupted the chief. "That's one of your surprises, Mr. Fullaway! Quiet, now, quiet. Our job is to watch. Something'll happen in a minute."

Miss Slade and her talkative companion edged their way through the crowd and passed out to an open patch of grass whereon a few children were playing. And as they went, two or three men also separated themselves from the idlers around the tables and strolled quietly and casually in the same direction. Also, Van Koon and the man with him left their table, and, as if they had no object in life but mere aimless chatter and saunter, wandered away towards the couple who had first emerged from the enclosure. And thereupon, Fullaway, not to be repressed, burst out with another exclamation.

"My God, Chilverton!" he cried. "There is Van Koon! And, by all that's wonderful, Merrifield with him. Now what—"

The New York detective, who was under no orders, and knew no reason why he should restrain himself, wasted no time in words. Like a flash, he had leapt from his chair, threaded his way through the surrounding people, and was after his quarry. And with a muttered exclamation of anger, the chief rose and followed—and it seemed to Allerdyke that almost at the same instant a score of men, up to that moment innocently idling and lounging, rose in company.

"Damn it!" he growled, as he and Appleyard got up. "That chap's going to spoil everything. What is he after? Confound you, Fullaway!—why couldn't you keep quiet for a minute? Look there!"

Van Koon had turned and seen Chilverton. So, too, had Van Koon's companion. So, also, had Miss Slade and the man she was walking with. That man, too, saw the apparent idlers closing in upon him. For a second he, and Van Koon, and the other man stared at each other across the grass; then, as with a common instinct, each turned to flee—and at that instant Miss Slade, with a truly feminine cry, threw herself upon her companion and got an undeniably firm grip on his struggling arms.

"This is the Eastbourne Terrace man!" she panted as Allerdyke and half-a-dozen detectives relieved her. "Get the other two—Van Koon and Merrifield. Quick!"

But Van Koon was already in the secure grip of Chilverton, and the person in the light blue suit was being safely rounded up by a posse of grim-faced men.



CHAPTER XXXIII

THE SMART MISS SLADE

In no city of the world is a crowd so quickly collected as in London; in none is one so easily satisfied and dispersed. Within five minutes the detectives had hurried their three captives away towards the nearest cab-rank, and the people who had left their tea and their cakes to gather round, to stare, and to listen had gone back to their tables to discuss this latest excitement. But the chief and Allerdyke, Fullaway and Appleyard, Miss Slade and Rayner stood in a little group on the grass and looked at each other. Eventually, all looks except Rayner's centred on Miss Slade, who, somewhat out of breath from her tussle, was settling her hat and otherwise composing herself. And it was Miss Slade who spoke first when the party, as a party, found itself capable of speech.

"I don't know who it was," observed Miss Slade, rather more than a little acidly, "who came interfering in my business, but whoever he was he nearly spoilt it."

She darted a much-displeased look at the chief, who hastened to exculpate himself.

"Not I!" he said with a smile. "So don't blame me, Miss Slade. I was merely a looker-on, a passive spectator—until the right moment arrived. Do I gather that the right moment had not actually arrived—for your purpose?"

"You do," answered Miss Slade. "It hadn't. If you had all waited a few moments you would have had all three men in conference round one of those tables, and they could have been taken with far less fuss and bother—and far less danger to me. It's the greatest wonder in the world that I'm not lying dead on that grass!"

"We are devoutly thankful that you are not," said the chief fervently. "But—you're not! And the main thing is that the three men are in custody, and as for interference—"

"It was Chilverton," interrupted Fullaway, who had been staring at his mysterious secretary as if she were some rare object which he had never seen before. "Chilverton!—all Chilverton's fault. As soon as he set eyes on Van Koon nothing would hold him. And what I want to know—"

"We all want to know a good deal," remarked the chief, glancing invitingly at Miss Slade. "Miss Slade has no doubt a good deal to tell. I suggest that we walk across to those very convenient chairs which I see over there by the shrubbery—then perhaps—"

"I want to know a good deal, too," said Miss Slade.

"I don't know who you are, to start with, and I don't know why Mr. Appleyard happens to be here, to end with."

Appleyard answered these two questions readily.

"I'm here because I happen to be Mr. Allerdyke's London representative," he said. "This gentleman is a very highly placed official of the Criminal Investigation Department."

Miss Slade, having composed herself, favoured the chief with a deliberate inspection.

"Oh! in that case," she remarked, "in that case, I suppose I had better satisfy your curiosity. That is," she continued, turning to Rayner, "if Mr. Rayner thinks I may?"

"I was going to suggest it," answered Rayner. "Let's sit down and tell them all about it."

The party of six went across to the quiet spot which the chief had indicated, and Fullaway and Appleyard obligingly arranged the chairs in a group. Seated in the midst and quite conscious that she was the centre of attraction in several ways, Miss Slade began her explanation of the events and mysteries which had culminated in the recent sensational event.

"I daresay," she said, looking round her, "that some of you know a great deal more about this affair than I do. What I do know, however, is this—the three men who have just been removed are without doubt the arch-spirits of the combination which robbed Miss Lennard, attempted to rob Mr. James Allerdyke, possibly murdered Mr. James Allerdyke, and certainly murdered Lydenberg, Lisette Beaurepaire, and Ebers. Van Koon is an American crook, whose real name is Vankin; Merrifield, as you know, is Mr. Delkin's secretary; the other man is one Otto Schmall, a German chemist, and a most remarkably clever person, who has a shop and a chemical manufactory in Whitechapel. He's an expert in poison—and I think you will have some interesting matters to deal with when you come to tackle his share. Well, that's plain fact; and now you want to know how I—and Mr. Rayner—found all this out."

"Chiefly you," murmured Rayner, "chiefly you!"

"You had better let your minds go back to the morning of the 13th May last," continued Miss Slade, paying no apparent heed to this interruption. "On that morning I arrived at Mr. Fullaway's office at my usual time, ten o'clock, to find that Mr. Fullaway had departed suddenly, earlier in the morning, for Hull. I at once guessed why he had gone—I knew that Mr. James Allerdyke, in charge of the Princess Nastirsevitch's jewels, was to have landed at Hull the night before, and I concluded that Mr. Fullaway had set off to meet him. But Mr. Fullaway has a bad habit of leaving letters and telegrams lying about, for any one to see, and within a few minutes I found on his desk a telegram from Mr. Marshall Allerdyke, dispatched early that morning from Hull, saying that his cousin had died suddenly during the night. That, of course, definitely explained Mr. Fullaway's departure, and it also made me wonder, knowing all I did know, if the jewels were safe.

"This, I repeat, was about ten to half-past ten o'clock. About twelve o'clock of that morning, the 13th, Mr. Van Koon, whom I knew as a resident in the hotel, and a frequent caller on Mr. Fullaway, came in. He wanted Mr. Fullaway to cash a cheque for him. I told him that I could do that, and I took his cheque, wrote out one of my own and went up town to Parr's Bank, at the bottom of St. Martin's Lane, to get the cash for him. Mr. Van Koon stayed in the office, reading a bundle of American newspapers which had just been delivered. I was away from the office perhaps forty minutes or so; when I returned he was still there. I gave him the money; he thanked me, and went away.

"Towards the end of that afternoon, just before I was leaving the office, I got a wire from Mr. Fullaway, from Hull. It was quite short—it merely informed me that Mr. James Allerdyke was dead, under mysterious circumstances, and that the Nastirsevitch property was missing. Of course, I knew what that meant, and I drew my own conclusions.

"Now I come to the 14th—a critical day, so far as I am concerned. During the morning a parcels-van boy came into the office. He said that on the previous day, about half-past twelve o'clock, he had brought a small parcel there, addressed to Mr. Fullaway, and had handed it to a gentleman who was reading newspapers, and who had answered 'Yes' when inquired of as Mr. Fullaway. This gentleman—who, of course, was Van Koon—had signed for the parcel by scribbling two initials 'F. F.' in the proper space. The boy, who said he was new to his job, told me that the clerk at the parcels office objected to this as not being a proper signature, and had told him to call next time he was passing and get the thing put right. He accordingly handed me the sheet, and I, believing that this was some small parcel which Van Koon had taken in, signed for, and placed somewhere in the office or in Mr. Fullaway's private room, signed my own name, for Franklin Fullaway, over the penciled initials. And as I did so I noticed that the parcel had been sent from Hull.

"When the boy had gone I looked for that parcel. I could not find it anywhere. It was certainly not in the office, nor in any of the rooms of Mr. Fullaway's suite. I was half minded to go to Mr. Van Koon and ask about it, but I decided that I wouldn't; I thought I would wait until Mr. Fullaway returned. But all the time I was wondering what parcel it could be that was sent from Hull, and certainly dispatched from there on the very evening before Mr. Fullaway's hurried journey.

"Nothing happened until Mr. Fullaway came back. Then a lot of things happened all at once. There was the news he brought about the Hull affair. Then there was the affair of the French maid. A great deal got into the newspapers. Mr. Rayner and I, who live at the same boarding-house, began to discuss matters. I heard, through Mr. Fullaway, that there was likelihood of a big reward, and I determined to have a try for it—in conjunction with Mr. Rayner. And so I kept my own counsel—I said nothing about the affair of the parcel."

Fullaway, who had been manifesting signs of impatience and irritation during the last few minutes, here snapped out a question.

"Why didn't you tell me at once about the parcel?" he demanded. "It was your duty!"

Miss Slade gave her employer a cool glance.

"Possibly!" she retorted. "But you are much too careless to be entrusted with secrets, Mr. Fullaway. I knew that if I told you about that parcel you'd spoil everything at once. I wanted to do things my own way. I took my own way—and it's come out all right, for everybody. Now, don't you or anybody interrupt again—I'm telling it all in order."

Fullaway made an inarticulate growling protest, but Miss Slade took no notice and continued in even, dispassionate tones, as if she had been explained a mathematical problem.

"The affair prospered. The Princess came. The reward of fifty thousand pounds was offered. Then Mr. Rayner and I put our heads together more seriously. Much, of course, depended upon me, as I was on the spot. I wanted a chance to get into Van Koon's rooms, some time when he was out. Fortunately the chance came. One afternoon, when Van Koon was in our office, he and Mr. Fullaway settled to dine out together and go to the theatre afterwards. That gave me my opportunity. I made an excuse about staying late at Mr. Fullaway's office and when both men were clear away I let myself into Van Koon's room—I'd already made preparations for that—and proceeded to search. I found the parcel. It was a small, square parcel, done up in brown paper and sealed with black wax; it had been opened, the original wrapper put on again, and the seals resealed. I took it into Mr. Fullaway's rooms and opened it, carefully. Inside I found a small cigar-box, and in it the Princess's jewels. I took them out. Then I put certain articles of corresponding weight into the box, did it up again precisely as I had found it, smeared over the seals with more black wax, went back to Van Koon's room with it, and placed it again where I had found it—in a small suit-case.

"I now knew, of course, that Mr. James Allerdyke had sent those jewels direct to Mr. Fullaway, immediately on his arrival in Hull, and that they had fallen by sheer accident into Van Koon's hands. But I wanted to know more. I wanted to know if Van Koon had any connection with this affair, and if, when he saw that the parcel was from Hull, he had immediately jumped to the conclusion that it might be from James Allerdyke, and might contain the actual valuables. Fortunately, Mr. Rayner had already made arrangements with a noted private inquiry agent to have Van Koon most carefully and closely watched. And the very day after I found and took possession of the jewels we received a report from this agent that Van Koon was in the habit of visiting the shop and manufactory of a German chemist named Schmall, in Whitechapel. Further, he had twice come away from it, after lengthy visits, in company with a man whom the agent's employees had tracked to the Hotel Cecil, and whom I knew, from their description, to be Mr. Merrifield, Mr. Delkin's private secretary.

"Naturally, having discovered this, we gave instructions for a keener watch than ever to be kept on both these men. But the name of the German chemist gave me personally a new and most important clue. There had been employed at the Waldorf Hotel, for some weeks up to the end of the first week in May, a German-Swiss young man, who then called himself Ebers. He acted as valet to several residents; amongst others, Mr. Fullaway. He was often in and out of Mr. Fullaway's rooms. Once, Mr. Fullaway being out, and I having nothing to do, I was cleaning up some photographic apparatus which I had there. This man Ebers came in with some clothes of Mr. Fullaway's. Seeing what I was doing, he got talking to me about photography, saying that he himself was an amateur. He recommended to me certain materials and things of that sort which he said he could get from a friend of his, a chemist, who was an enthusiastic photographer and manufactured chemicals and things used in photography. I gave him some money to get me a supply of things, and he brought various packets and parcels to me two or three days later. Each packet bore the name of Otto Schmall, and an address in a street which runs off Mile End Road.

"Now, when the private inquiry agent made his reports to Mr. Rayner and myself about Van Koon, and told us where he had been tracked to more than once, I, of course, remembered the name of Schmall, and Mr. Rayner and I began to put certain facts together. They were these:

"First.—Ebers had easy access to Mr. Fullaway's room at all hours, and was often in them when both Mr. Fullaway and I were out. Mr. Fullaway is notoriously careless in leaving papers and documents, letters and telegrams lying around. Ebers had abundant opportunities of reading lots of documents relating to (1) the Pinkie Pell pearls, and (2) the proposed Nastirsevitch deal.

"Second.—Ebers was a friend of Sehmall. Schmall was evidently a man of great cleverness in chemistry.

"Third.—All the circumstances of Mr. James Allerdyke's death, and of Lisette Beaurepaire's death, pointed to unusually skillful poisoning. Who was better able to engineer that than a clever chemist?

"Fourth.—The jewels belonging to the Princess Nastirsevitch had undoubtedly fallen into Van Koon's hands. Van Koon was a friend of Schmall. So also, evidently, was Merrifield. Now, Merrifield, as Delkin's secretary, knew of the proposed deal.

"Obviously, then, Schmall, Van Koon, and Merrifield were in league—whether Ebers was also in league, or was a catspaw, we did not trouble to decide. But there was another fact which seemed to have some bearing, though it is one which I have never yet worked out—perhaps some of you know something of it. It was this: Just before he went to Russia, Mr. James Allerdyke, being in town, gave me a photograph of himself which Mr. Marshall Allerdyke had recently taken. I kept that photo lying on my desk at Mr. Fullaway's for some time. One day I missed it. It is such an unusual thing for me to misplace anything that I turned over every paper on my desk in searching for it. It was not to be found. Four days later I found it, exactly where it ought to have been. Now, you can draw your own conclusions from that—mine are that Ebers stole it, so that he could reproduce it in order to give his reproduction to some person who wanted to identify James Allerdyke at sight.

"However, to go forward to the discovery which we made about Schmall, Van Koon, and Merrifield. As soon as we made that discovery, Mr. Rayner was for going to the police at once, but I thought not—there was still certain evidence which I wanted, so that the case could be presented without a flaw. However, all of a sudden I saw that we should have to act. Ebers was found dead in a small hotel near the Docks, and at a conference in which Mr. Fullaway insisted I should join, in his rooms, and at which Van Koon, who had been playing a bluff game, was present, there was enough said to convince me that Van Koon and his associates would take alarm and be off with what they believed themselves to possess—the jewels in that parcel. So then Mr. Rayner and I determined on big measures. And they were risky ones—for me.

"I had already been down, more than once, into Whitechapel, and had bought things at Schmall's shop, and I was convinced that he was the man who accompanied Lisette Beaurepaire to that little hotel in Eastbourne Terrace. Now that the critical moment came, after the Ebers-Federman affair, I went there again. I got Schmall outside his premises. I took a bold step. I told him that I was a woman detective, who, for purposes of my own, had been working this case, and that I was in full possession of the facts. If I had not taken the precaution to tell him this in the thick of a crowded street, he would have killed me on the spot! Then I went on to tell him more. I said that his accomplice had led him to believe that he had the Nastirsevitch jewels in a parcel in his possession. I said that Van Koon was wrong—I had them myself—I told him how I got them. He nearly collapsed at that—I restored him by saying that the real object of my visit to him was to do a deal with him. I said that it did not matter two pins to me what he and his accomplices had done—what I was out for was money, nothing but money. How much would he and the others put up for the jewels and my silence? I reminded him of the fifty thousand pound reward. He glared at me like the devil he is, and said that he'd a mind to kill me there and then, whatever happened. Whereupon I told him that I had a revolver in my jacket pocket, that it was trained on him, and that if he moved, my finger would move just as quick, and I invited him to be sensible. It was nothing but a question of money, I said—-how much would they give? Finally, we settled it at sixty thousand pounds. He was to meet me here—to-day at two—the other two were to be about—the money was to be paid to me on production of the jewels, for which purpose one of them was to go with me to my boarding-house. And—you know the rest."

Miss Slade came to a sudden stop. She glanced at Rayner, who had been watching the effect of her story on the other men.

"At least," she added suddenly, "you know all that's really important. As Ebers' affair was in the City, we warned the City police and left things with them. I think that's all. Except, of course, Mr. Marshall Allerdyke, that we formally claim the reward for which you're responsible. And—equally of course—that Mr. Rayner and I will hand over her jewels in the course of this afternoon to the Princess. Miss Lennard's property, I should say, you'll find hidden away on Schmall's premises. Yes—that's all."

"Except this," said the chief quietly. He unwrapped the newspaper in which he had carried his small parcel and revealed its contents to Miss Slade. "The jewels, you see, Miss Slade, are here. It has been my painful duty to visit your hotel, and to possess myself of them. Sorry but—"

Miss Slade gave one glance of astonishment at the chief and his exhibit; then she laughed in his face.

"Don't apologize, and don't trouble yourself!" she said suavely. "But you're a bit off it, all the same. Those are some paste things which Mr. Rayner got together for me in case it came to being obliged to exhibit some to the crooks. You don't think, really, that I was going to run any risks with the genuine articles? Sakes—they're all right! They're deposited, snug and safe, at my bankers, and if you'll get a cab, we'll drive there and get them!"



CHAPTER XXXIV

MERRIFIELD EXPLAINS

Late that afternoon Marshall Allerdyke and Fullaway, responding to an urgent telephone call, went to New Scotland Yard, and were presently ushered into the presence of the great man who had been so much in evidence that day. The great man was as self-possessed, as suave, and as calmly cheerful as ever. And on the desk in front of him he had two small and neatly made up parcels, tied and sealed in obviously official fashion.

"So we seem to have come to the end of this affair, gentlemen," he observed as he waved his visitors to chairs on either side of him. "Except, of course, for the unpleasant consequences which must necessarily result to the men we caught to-day. However, there will be no consequences—of that sort—for one of them. Schmall has—escaped us!"

"Got away!" exclaimed Fullaway. "Great Scott you don't mean that!"

"Schmall committed suicide this afternoon," replied the chief calmly. "Clever man—in his own line, which was a very bad line. He was searched most narrowly and carefully, so I've come to the conclusion that he carried some of his subtle poison in his mouth—the hollow tooth dodge, no doubt. Anyway, he's dead—they found him dead in his cell. It's a pity—for he richly deserved hanging. At least, according to Merrifield."

"Ah!" said Fullaway, with a start. "According to Merrifield, eh? Now what may that mean? To find Merrifield in this at all was, of course, a regular shock to me!"

"Merrifield—just the type of man who would!—has made a clean breast of the whole thing," answered the chief. "He made it to me—an hour ago. He thought it best. He wants—naturally enough—to save his neck."

"Will he?" growled Allerdyke. "A lot of necks ought to crack, after all this!"

"Can't say—we mustn't prejudge the case," said the chief. "But that's his desire of course. He would tell me everything—at once. I had it all taken down. But I remember every scrap of it. You want to hear? Well there's a good deal of it, but I can epitomize it. You'll find that you were much to blame, Mr. Fullaway—just as that smart young woman, your secretary, was candid enough to tell you."

"Oh, I know—I know!" asserted Fullaway. "But—this confession?"

"Very well," responded the chief. "Here it is, then but you must bear in mind that Merrifield could only tell what he knew—there'll probably be details to come out later. Anyway, Merrifield—whose chief object is, I must also remind you, the clearing of himself from any charge of murder—he doesn't mind the other charge, but he does object to the graver one!—says that though he's been playing it straight for some time, ever since he went into Delkin's service, in fact—he'd had negotiations of a questionable sort with both Schmall and Van Koon before years ago, in this city and in New York. He renewed his acquaintance with Schmall when he came over this time with Delkin—met him accidentally, and got going it with him again—and they both resumed dealings with Van Koon—who, I may say, was wanted by Chilverton on a quite different charge. Schmall had set up a business here in the East End as a small manufacturing chemist—he'd evidently a perfect and a diabolical genius for chemistry, especially in secret poisons—and down there Merrifield and Van Koon used to go. Also, there used to go there the young man Ebers, or Federman—we'll stick to Ebers—who, from Merrifield's account, seems to have been a tool of Schmall's. Ebers, a fellow of evident acute perception, used to tell Schmall of things which his calling as valet at various hotels gave him knowledge—it strikes me that from what we now know we shall be able to trace to Schmall and Ebers several robberies at hotels which have puzzled us a good deal. And there is no doubt that it was Ebers who told Schmall of the two matters of which he obtained knowledge when he used to frequent your rooms. Mr. Fullaway—the pearls belonging to Miss Lennard, and the proposed jewel deal between the Princess Nastirsevitch and Mr. Delkin. But in that last Merrifield came in. He too, knew of it, and he told Schmall and Van Koon, but Ebers supplied the detailed information of what you were doing, through access, as Miss Slade said, to your papers—which you left lying about, you know."

"I know—I know!" groaned Fullaway. "Careless—careless!"

"Very!" said the chief, with a smile at Allerdyke "Teach you a lesson, perhaps. However, there this knowledge was. Now, Schmall, according to Merrifield, was the leading spirit. He had the man Lydenberg in his employ. He sent him off to Christiania to waylay James Allerdyke: he supplied him with a photograph of James Allerdyke, which Ebers procured."

"I know that!" muttered Allerdyke. "Clever, too!"

"Exactly," agreed the chief. "Now at the same time Schmall learned of Miss Lennard's return. He sent Ebers, who already knew and had been cultivating the French maid, down to Hull to meet her and bring her away with Miss Lennard's jewel-box. That was done easily. The Lydenberg affair, however, did not come off—through Lydenberg. Because, as we now know, James Allerdyke sent the Nastirsevitch jewels off to you, Mr. Fullaway. But there, fortune favoured these fellows Van Koon, for purposes of theirs, had taken up his quarters close by you—in your absence the box came into his hands. And—we know how the ingenious Miss Slade despoiled him of it!"

The chief paused for a moment, and mechanically shifted the two parcels which stood before him. He seemed to be reflecting, and when he spoke again he prefaced his words with a shake of the head.

"Now here, from this point," he continued, "I don't know if Mr. Merrifield is telling the truth. Probably he isn't. But I confess that, at present, I don't see how we're going to prove that he isn't. He strenuously declares that neither he nor Van Koon had anything whatever to do with the murder of Lisette Beaurepaire, Lydenberg, or Ebers. He further says that he does not know if Lydenberg poisoned James Allerdyke. He declares that he does not know if it was ever intended to poison James Allerdyke, though he confesses that it was intended to rob him at Hull. Schmall, he says, was the active partner in all this—he took all that into his own hands. According to Merrifield, he does not know, nor Van Koon either, if it was Schmall who went down to Hull and shot Lydenberg, or if Lydenberg was murdered by some person who had a commission for his destruction from some secret society—Lydenberg, he believed, was mixed up with that sort of thing."

"I know that, I think!" exclaimed Allerdyke.

"I daresay we all three know what we think," observed the chief. "Schmall seems to have had a genius for putting his tools out of the way when he had done with them. It was undoubtedly Schmall who took Lisette Beaurepaire to that hotel in Paddington and poisoned her; it was just as undoubtedly Schmall who took Ebers to the hotel in London Docks and got rid of him. But, I tell you, Merrifield swears that neither he nor Van Koon knew of these things, and did not connive at them."

"Did they know of them—afterwards?" asked Fullaway.

"Ah!" replied the chief. "That's what they'll have to satisfy a judge and jury about! I think they'll find it difficult. But—that's about all. Except this—that they were all three about to clear out when the enterprising Miss Slade turned up and told Schmall she'd got the Nastirsevitch jewels. That was a stiff proposition for them. But they were equal to it. For you see Miss Slade let him know that she was open to do a deal—for sixty thousand pounds! How were they to get sixty thousand pounds? Ah!—now came a confession from Merrifield which has already—for I've told him of it—made Mr. Delkin stare. Delkin, it appears, keeps a very big banking account here in London—so big, that his bankers think nothing of his drawing what we should call enormous cash cheques. Now Merrifield—you see what a clean breast he's made—admitted to me that he was an expert forger—so he calmly forged a cheque of Delkin's, drew sixty thousand in notes—and they had them on them—at least Merrifield had—when we took all three a few hours ago. Nice people, eh!"

There was a silence of much significance for a few minutes; then Allerdyke got up from his chair with a growl.

"I'd have given a good deal if that fellow Schmall had saved his neck for the gallows!" he muttered. "He's cheated me!"

"It's my impression," said the chief, "that if Miss Slade hadn't been so smart, Schmall would have cheated his two accomplices. He had what he believed to be the parcel containing the Nastirsevitch jewels in his possession, and he also had Miss Lennard's pearls locked up in his safe. We got those this afternoon, on searching his premises; Miss Slade gave us the real Nastirsevitch jewels from her bank. Here they are—both lots, in these parcels. And if you two gentlemen will go through the formality of signing receipts for them, you, Mr. Fullaway, can take her parcel to the Princess, and you, Mr. Allerdyke, can carry hers to Miss Lennard. And, er—" he added, with a quiet smile, as he rose and produced some papers—"you won't mind, either of you, I'm sure, if a couple of my men accompany you—just to see that you accomplish your respective missions in safety?"