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Updated: August 18, 2024
"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.
"If you don't know anything about it, or any of the persons concerned, where would you begin?" "There are plenty of persons named in these accounts about whom one could find something out, at any rate," replied Appleyard, tapping the newspaper with his finger.
Put it in a cab and go to this Rayner, or Ramsay there's your excuse, and you can say you heard of him in the City, from Wilmingtons it was they who told me what he was. It's a good notion, Mr. Allerdyke." "What object?" asked Allerdyke. "Simply to get a look at him," replied Appleyard. "Look here you know very well that there's a strong suspicion against Miss Slade.
He turned hastily to Wallingford's landlady, who had let him in and followed him into the dead man's room. "It's no use, Mrs. Appleyard," he said. "I can't stop here to-night, anyway. It would be too much! I'll go to the Chancellor, and send on for my luggage." The woman nodded, staring at him wonderingly.
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.
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.
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.
Miss Slade, without showing the slightest shade of interest, shook her head. "I don't read murders," she answered. "Fifty thousand pounds reward! That's an awful lot, isn't it?" "Worth trying for, anyway!" replied Appleyard. He gave her a sly look, and smiled grimly. "I think I'll try for it," he said. "Fifty thousand!" "How could any one try unless he or she's some clue?" she asked.
Miss Appleyard belonged to the class that young ladies who pride themselves on being tiresomely ignorant and foolish sneer at as "blue-stockings"; that is to say, possessing brains, she had felt the necessity of using them.
You go and tell what you know of your own knowledge," he went on, turning to Chettle. "Leave me clean out for the time being. I'll come in at the right moment. Say naught about me or of what I've told you. And if you're sent back to Hull, just contrive to see me before you go. And, as Mr. Appleyard says, I'll see you're all right, anyhow."
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