The Rayner-Slade Amalgamation by J. S. Fletcher (reading e books .TXT) 📕

a thousand,' I says. Which there was, and is a particular spot, sir, in Kensington Gardens where I used to sit, and you pays a penny for a chair, which I did, and there's other chairs about, near a fallen tree, which is still there, for I went to make sure last night, and there, on three afternoons while I was there, this young lady came at about, say, four o'clock each time, and was met by this here young man what I don't remember as clear as I remember her, me not taking so much notice of him. And—"

"Another moment, Mrs. Perrigo." The chief turned again to Celia. "Did your maid ever go out in the afternoons about that time?" he asked.

"Probably every afternoon," replied Celia. "I myself was away from London from the 11th to the 18th of March, staying with friends in the country. I didn't take her with me—so, of course, she'd nothing to do but follow her own inclinations."

The chief turned to Mrs. Perrigo again.

"Yes?" he said. "You saw the young woman whose photograph you have seen in the papers meet a young man in Kensington Gardens on three separate occasions. Yes?"

"Three separate occasions, close by—on penny chairs, sir, where they sat and talked foreign, which I didn't understand—and on another occasion, when I see 'em walking by the Round Pond, me being at some distance, but recognizing her by her elegant figure. I took particular notice of the young woman's face, sir, me being a noticing person, and I'll take my dying oath, if need be, that this here picture is hers!"

Mrs. Perrigo here produced a much worn and crumpled illustrated newspaper and laid her hand solemnly upon it. That done, she shook her head.

"But I ain't so certain about the young man as met her," she said sorrowfully. "Him I did not notice with such attention, being, as I say, more attracted to her. All the same, he was a young man—and spoke the same foreign language as what she did. Of them facts, sure I am, sir."

"They sat near you, Mrs. Perrigo?"

"As near, sir, as I am now to that lady. And paid their pennies for their chairs in my presence; leastways, the young man paid. Always the same place it was, and always the same time—three days all within a week, and then the day when I see 'em walking at a distance."

"Can't you remember anything about the young man, Mrs. Perrigo?" asked the chief. "Come!—try to think. That is the really important thing. You must have some recollection of him, you know, some idea of what he was like."

Mrs. Perrigo took a corner of her shawl between her fingers and proceeded to fold and pleat it while she thoughtfully fixed her eyes on Blindway's unmoved countenance, as if to find inspiration there. And after a time she nodded her head as though memory had stirred within her.

"Which every time I see him," she said, with an evident quickening of interest, "he had two of them dogs with him what has turned-up noses and twisted tails."

"Pugs?" suggested the chief.

"No doubt that is their name, sir, but unbeknown to me as I never kept such an animal," answered Mrs. Perrigo. "My meaning being clear, no doubt, and there being no mistaking of 'em—their tails and noses being of that order. And had 'em always on a chain—gentlemen's dogs you could see they was, and carefully looked after with blue bows at the back of their necks, same as if they was Christians. And him, I should say, speaking from memory, a dark young man—such is my recollection."

"It comes to this," remarked the chief, looking at the three listeners with a smile. "Mrs. Perrigo says that she is certain that upon three occasions about the middle of March last she witnessed meetings at a particular spot in Kensington Gardens between a young woman answering the description and photographs of Lisette Beaurepaire and a young man of whom she cannot definitely remember anything except that she thinks he was dark, spoke a foreign language, and was in charge of two pug dogs which wore blue ribbons. That's it, isn't it, Mrs. Perrigo?"

"And willing to take my solemn oath of the same whenever convenient, sir," replied Mrs. Perrigo. "And if so be as what I've told you should lead to anything, gentlemen—and lady—I can assure you that me being a poor widow, and—"

Five minutes later, Mrs. Perrigo, with some present reward in her pocket, was walking quietly up Whitehall with a composed countenance, while Allerdyke, already late for his Gresham Street appointment, sped towards the City as fast as a hastily chartered taxi-cab could carry him. And all the way thither, being alone, he repeated certain words over and over again.

"A dark young man who led two pugs—a dark young man who led two pugs! With blue ribbons on their necks—with blue ribbons on their necks, same as Christians!"

CHAPTER XXII THICK FOG

It was half-past eleven when Allerdyke reached Gresham Street: by half-past one, so curiously and rapidly did events crowd upon each other, he was in a state of complete mental confusion. He sat down to lunch that day feeling as a man feels who has lost his way in an unknown country in the midst of a blinding mist; as a weaver might feel who is at work on an intricate pattern and suddenly finds all his threads inextricably mixed up and tangled. Instead of things getting better and clearer, that morning's work made them more hopelessly muddled.

Chettle was hanging about the door of the warehouse when Allerdyke drove up. His usually sly look was accentuated that morning, and as soon as Allerdyke stepped from his cab he drew him aside with a meaning gesture.

"A word or two before we go in, Mr. Allerdyke," he said as they walked a few steps along the street. "Look here, sir," he went on in a whisper. "I've been reflecting on things since I saw you last night. Of course, I'm supposed to be in Hull, you know. But I shall have to report myself at the Yard this morning—can't avoid that. And I shall have to tell them why I came up. Now, it's here, Mr. Allerdyke—how much or how little shall I tell 'em? What I mean sir, is this—do you want to keep any of this recently acquired knowledge to yourself? Of course, if you do—well, I needn't tell any more there—at headquarters—than you wish me to tell. I can easy make excuse for coming up. And, of course, in that case—"

"Well!" demanded Allerdyke impatiently. "What then?"

Chettle gave him another look of suggestive meaning, and taking off his square felt hat, wiped his forehead with a big coloured handkerchief.

"Well, of course, Mr. Allerdyke," he said insinuatingly. "Of course, sir, I'm a poor man, and I've a rising family that I want to do my best for. I could do with a substantial amount of that reward, you know, Mr. Allerdyke. We've all a right to do the best we can for ourselves, sir. And if you're wanting to, follow this affair out on your own, sir, independent of the police—eh?"

Allerdyke's sense of duty arose in strong protest against this very palpable suggestion. He shook his head.

"No—no!" he said. "That won't do, Chettle. You must do your duty to your superiors. You'll find that you'll be all right. If the police solve this affair, that reward'll go to the police, and you'll get your proper share. No—no underhand work. You make your report in your ordinary way. No more of that!"

"Aye, but do you understand, Mr. Allerdyke?" said the detective anxiously. "Do you comprehend what it'll mean. You know very well that there's a lot of red tape in our work—they go a great deal by rule and precedent, as you might say. Now, if I go to the Yard—as I shall have to, as soon as you've done with me—and tell the chief that I've found this photo of your cousin in Lydenberg's watch, and that you're certain that your cousin gave that particular photo to Mrs. Marlow, alias Miss Slade, do you know what'll happen?"

"What?" asked Allerdyke.

"They'll arrest her within half an hour," answered Chettle.
"Dead certain!"

"Well?" said Allerdyke. "And—what then!"

"Why, it'll probably upset the whole bag of tricks!" exclaimed Chettle.
"The thing'll be spoiled before we've properly worked it out. See?"

Allerdyke did see. He had sufficient knowledge of police matters to know that Chettle was right, and that a too hasty step would probably ruin everything. He turned towards the warehouse.

"Just so," he said. "I take your meaning. Now then, come in, and we'll put it before my manager, Mr. Appleyard. I've great faith in his judgment—let's see what he's got to say."

The two Gaffneys were waiting just within the packingroom of the warehouse. Allerdyke bade them wait a little longer, and took the detective straight into Appleyard's office. 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?

Ambler Appleyard grasped the situation at once and solved the problem in a few direct words. There was no need whatever, he said, for Chettle to do more than his plain duty, no need for him to exceed it. He was bound, being what he was, to make his report about his discovery of the photograph and the writing on it. That he must do. 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. And, wound up Appleyard, who had a keen knowledge of human nature and saw deep into Chettle's mind, Mr. Allerdyke would doubtless see that Chettle lost nothing by holding his tongue about anything that wasn't exactly ripe for discussion. At present, he repeated, let Chettle do his duty—not exceed it.

"That's it," agreed Allerdyke. "You've hit it, Ambler. 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."

When Chettle had gone, Allerdyke closed the door on him and turned to his manager with a knowing look.

"That chap's right, you know, Ambler," he said. "A false move, a too hasty step'll ruin everything. If that woman's startled—if she gets a suspicion—egad, it's all mixed up about as badly as can be! Now, about these Gaffneys?"

"Wait a while," said Appleyard. "I don't know that we want their services just yet. I've found out a thing or two that may be useful. About this man Rayner now, who's in evident close touch with Miss Slade (by the by, you saw her at the Waldorf at half-past eleven last night, and I saw her come into the Pompadour at half-past twelve, with Rayner), and about whom we accordingly want to know something—I've found out, through ordinary business channels, that he does carry on a business at Clytemnestra House, in Arundel Street, under the name of Gavin Ramsay. And—if we want to know more of him—I've an idea. You go and see him, Mr. Allerdyke—on business."

"I? Business?" exclaimed Allerdyke. "What sort of business?"

"He's an inventor's agent," replied Appleyard. "It's a profession I never heard of before, but he seems to act as a go-between. Folks that have got an invention go to him—he helps 'em about it—helps 'em to perfect it, patent it, get it on the market. You've a good excuse—there's that patent railway chair of your man Gankrodgers, been lying there in that corner for the past year, and you promised Gankrodgers you'd help him about it. 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?"