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Peter Hope, editor and part proprietor of Good Humour, one penny weekly, was much esteemed by Solomon Appleyard, printer and publisher of aforesaid paper. "A good fellow, old Hope," Solomon would often impress upon his managing clerk. "Don't worry him more than you can help; things will improve. We can trust him." Peter Hope sat at his desk, facing Miss Appleyard.
Gerald Rayner, it was evident, was a man of culture that, indeed, was shown by his conversation. And at first Appleyard had set him down as a poet, or an artist, or a writing man of some sort a dilettante who possessed private means.
I've thought things out a good deal, and we can do a lot, you and me, before going to the police, though I don't think it 'ud do any harm to tell this man Chettle, supposing he were here because his discovery of that photo is the real thing." "What can we do, then?" asked Allerdyke. "Make use of the two Gaffneys," answered Appleyard without hesitation. "They're smart chaps -real keen 'uns.
There, behind the closed door, he told Appleyard of everything that had happened since their last meeting, and of what Chettle had just said. The problem was, in view of all that, of the mysterious proceedings of Mrs. Marlow the night before, and of what Allerdyke had just heard at New Scotland Yard what was best to be done, severally and collectively, by all of them?
But Appleyard had begun to notice that he rarely talked to any single person with the exception of Miss Slade he would join a group in smoking-room or drawing-room and enter gaily into whatever was being discussed, but he seemed to have no desire to hold a tête-a-tête talk with any one except this young woman, who was now as much an object of mystery and speculation to Appleyard as he himself was.
Gaffney went away, evidently delighted with his commission, and Appleyard turned to his business of the day, wondering if he was not going to waste the chauffer's time and his own money.
He had no intention of asking Miss Slade anything when he left the City for Bayswater that evening, but chance threw him into her immediate company in one of the lounges, where, after dinner, they met at a table on which the evening newspapers were laid out. As Miss Slade picked up one, Appleyard picked up another certain big, strong letters on the front sheets of both gave him an opening.
Master Grindley, his star having pointed out to him a peacock's feather lying on the ground, had, with one eye upon his unobservant parent, removed the complicated coverings sheltering Miss Helvetia Appleyard from the world, and anticipating by a quarter of a century the prime enjoyment of British youth, had set to work to tickle that lady on the nose.
Gaffney accepted the commission with alacrity; his brother, he said, was just then out of a job, having lost a clerkship through the sudden bankruptcy of his employers; such a bit of business as that which Mr. Appleyard had entrusted to him was so much meat and drink to one of his tastes in more ways than one. "It's the sort of thing he likes, sir," remarked Gaffney, confidentially.
"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.