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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.
Then how the devil did that photograph, which looks to be of my taking, which I'd swear is of my taking, come to be in Lydenberg's watch? Gad it's enough to make a man's brain turn to pap!" He was moodily finishing his lunch when Chettle came in to find him. Allerdyke, who was in a quiet corner, beckoned the detective to a seat, and offered him a drink. "Well?" he asked. "What's been done?"
The author has no royalties; and no control over the future of his work, which a Shakspere or a Bacon, a Jonson or a Chettle, or any handyman of the company owning the play, may alter as he pleases.
But he was not bound to tell anything that Allerdyke had told him: he was not bound to give information which Allerdyke had collected. Let Chettle go and tell the plain facts about his own knowledge of the photo and leave Allerdyke, for the moment, clean out of the question. Allerdyke himself could go with his news in due course.
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.
He breakfasted on the train, and was in Hull by one o'clock, and Chettle hailed him as he set foot on the platform, and immediately led him off to a cab which awaited them outside the station. "Much obliged to you for coming so promptly, Mr. Allerdyke," said the detective. "And for coming by yourself that was just what I wanted." "Aye, and why?" asked Allerdyke. "Why by myself?
"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!
It came from Chettle, the New Scotland Yard man who had been sent down to Hull as soon as the news of Lydenberg's murder arrived. Chettle asked Allerdyke to join him by the very next express, and to come alone; he asked him, moreover, not to tell Mr. Franklin Fullaway whither he was bound.
"No doubt of it, eh?" "Doubt! Recognize!" exclaimed Allerdyke. "Lord, man why, I took it myself, not two months ago!" Chettle laughed a low, suggestive, satisfied chuckle. He laid the watch, its case still open, on the table at which they were standing, and tapped the photograph with the point of his finger.
"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!"
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