NUMBER FIFTY-THREE
Chettle!--whom he had left only that morning in Hull, two hundred miles
away, both of them agreed that the next step was still unseen, and that
immediate action was yet problematical. Something had surely happened to
bring Chettle up to town and to him.
"Show Mr. Chettle up here at once," he said to the waiter. "And
here--bring a small decanter of whisky and a syphon of soda-water and
glasses. Be sharp with 'em."
He pulled on a dressing-gown when the man had gone, and, tying its cord
about his waist, went a step or two into the corridor to look out for his
visitor. A few minutes elapsed; then the lift came up, and the waiter,
killing two birds with one stone, appeared again, escorting the detective
and carrying a tray. And Allerdyke, with a sly wink at Chettle, greeted
him unconcernedly, ushered him into his room and chatted about nothing
until the waiter had gone away. Then he turned on him eagerly.
"What is it?" he demanded. "Something, of course! Aught new?"
For answer Chettle thrust his hand inside his overcoat and brought out a
small package, wrapped in cartridge paper, and sealed.
He began to break the seals and unwrap the covering.
"Well, it brought me up here--straight," he said. "I think I shall have
to let our people at the yard know everything, Mr. Allerdyke. But I came
to you first---I only got to King's Cross half an hour ago, and I drove
on to you at once. Well see what you think before I decide on anything."
"What is it!" repeated Allerdyke, gazing with interest at the package.
"You've found something of fresh importance, eh!"
Chettle took the lid off a small box and produced Lydenberg's watch and
postcard on which the appointment in the High Street had been made. He
sat down at the table, laying his hand on the watch.
"After you left me this morning," he said, "I started puzzling and
puzzling over what had been discovered, what had been done, whether there
was more that I could do. I kept thinking things over all the morning,
and half the afternoon. Then it suddenly struck me--there was one
thing--that I'd never done and that ought to have been done--I don't know
why I'd never thought of it till then--but I'd never had this photograph
out of the watch. And so I went back to the police-station and got the
watch and opened it, and--look there, Mr. Allerdyke!"
He had snapped open the case of the watch as he talked, and he now
detached the photograph and turning it over, laid the reverse side down
on the table by the postcard.
"Look at it!" he went on. "Do you see?--there's writing on it! You see
what it says? 'This is J.A. Burn this when made use of.' You see?
And--it's the same handwriting as that on this card, making the
appointment! Here, look at both for yourself--hold 'em closer to the
light. Mr. Allerdyke--that was all written by the same hand, or
I'm--no good!"
Allerdyke went close to the electric globe above his dressing-table, the
photograph in one hand, the postcard in the other. He looked searchingly
at both, brought them back, and laid them down again.
"No doubt of it, Chettle," he said. "No doubt of it! It doesn't need any
expert to be certain sure of that. The same, identical fist, without a
shadow of doubt. Well--what d'ye make of it? Here--have a drink."
He mixed a couple of drinks, pushed one glass to the detective, and took
the other himself.
"Egad!" he muttered, after drinking. "Things are getting--hottish,
anyway. As I say, what do you make of this? Of course, you've come to
some conclusion?"
"Yes," answered Chettle, taking up his glass and silently bowing his
acknowledgments. "I have! The only one I could come to. The man who sent
this photograph to Lydenberg, to help him to identify your cousin at
sight, is the man who afterwards lured Lydenberg into that part of Hull
High Street, and shot him dead. In plain words, the master shot his
man--when he'd done with him. Just as he poisoned the Frenchwoman--when
he'd done with her. Mr. Allerdyke, I'm more than ever convinced that
these two murders--Lydenberg's and the French maid's--were the work of
one hand."
"Likely!" assented Allerdyke. "It's getting to look like it. But--whose?
That's the problem, Chettle. Well, I've done a bit since I got back this
afternoon. You've had something to tell me--now I've something to tell
you. I've found out who it was that James gave the photograph to!"
Chettle showed his gratification by a start of pleased surprise.
"You have--already!" he exclaimed.
"Already!" replied Allerdyke. "Found it out within an hour of getting
back in here. He gave it"--here, though the door was closed and
bolted, and there was no fear of eavesdroppers, he sank his voice to a
whisper--"he gave it to Fullaway's secretary, the woman we discussed,
Mrs. Marlow. That's a fact. He gave it to her just before he set off
for Russia."
Chettle screwed his lips up to whistle--instead of whistling he suddenly
relaxed them to a comprehending smile.
"Aye, just so!" he said. "I was sure it lay somewhere--here. Fullaway
himself, now--does he know?"
"James gave it to her in Fullaway's presence," replied Allerdyke. "She's
a bit of a photographer, I understand--they were talking about
photography, I gathered, one day when James was in Fullaway's office, and
James pulled that out and gave it to her as a specimen of my work."
"All that came out in talk this afternoon?" asked Chettle.
"Just so. Ordinary, casual talk," assented Allerdyke.
"No suspicion roused?" suggested Chettle.
"I don't think so. Of course, you never can tell. I should say,"
continued Allerdyke, "that she's as deep and clever as ever they make
'em! But it was all so casual, and so natural, that I don't think she'd
the slightest idea that I was trying to get at anything. However, I found
this much out--she couldn't produce the photograph. Said she'd taken it
home. Well--there we are! That's part one of my bit of news, Chettle. Now
for part two. This woman's leading a double life. She's Mrs. Marlow as
Fullaway's secretary and here at his rooms and on his business; where she
lives she's Miss Slade. Eh?"
Chettle pricked his ears.
"When did you find that out?" he asked. "Since you left me this
morning?"
"Found it out this afternoon," replied Allerdyke, with something of
triumph. He had been strolling about the bedroom up to that moment, but
now he drew a chair to the table at which Chettle sat and dropped into it
close beside his visitor.
"I'll tell you all about it," he went on. "You said at Hull yesterday
that you'd always found Yorkshiremen sharp and shrewd--well, this is a
bit more Yorkshire work--work of my manager here in town--Mr.
Appleyard. Listen!"
He gave the detective a clear and succinct account of all that Appleyard
and his satellites had done, and Chettle listened with deep attention,
nodding his head at the various points.
"Yes," he said, when Allerdyke had made an end, "yes, that's all right,
so far. Good, useful work. The thing is--can you fully trust these two
young men--your chauffeur and his brother?"
"I could and would trust my chauffeur with my last shilling," answered
Allerdyke. "And as for his brother, I'll take my man's word for him.
Besides, they both know--or Mr. Gaffney knows--that I'm a pretty generous
paymaster. If a man does aught for me, and does it well, he profits to a
nice penny!"
"A good argument," agreed Chettle. "I don't know that you could beat it,
Mr. Allerdyke. Well, well--we're getting to something and to somewhere!
Now, as you've told me all this, I'll just keep things quiet until I've
met you and your manager to-morrow, with these two Gaffneys--we'll have a
conference. I won't go near the Yard until after that. Eleven o'clock
to-morrow, then, at your warehouse in Gresham Street."
He presently replaced the watch and the postcard in an inner pocket, and
took his leave, and Allerdyke, letting him out, walked along the corridor
with him as far as the lift. And as Allerdyke turned back to his own
room, the third event of that day happened, and seemed to him to be the
most surprising and important one of all.
What made Allerdyke pause as he retraced his steps along the corridor,
pause to look over the balustrade to the floor immediately below his own,
he never knew nor could explain. But, just as he was about to re-enter
his room, he did so pause, leaning over the railings and looking down for
a moment. In that moment he saw Mrs. Marlow.
A considerable portion of the floor immediately beneath him was fully
exposed to the view of any one leaning over the balustrade as Allerdyke
did. This was a quiet part of the hotel, a sort of wing cut away from
the main building; the floor at which he was looking was given up to
private suites of rooms, one of them, a larger one than the others,
being Fullaway's, which filled one side of the corridor; the others
were suites of two, in some cases of three rooms. As he looked over and
down, Allerdyke suddenly saw a door open in one of these smaller
suites--open silently and stealthily. Then he saw Mrs. Marlow look out,
and she glanced right and left about her. The next instant, she emerged
from the room with the same stealthiness, closed and locked the door
with a key which she immediately pocketed, slipped along the corridor,
and disappeared into Franklin Fullaway's suite. It was all over in less
than a minute, and Allerdyke turned into his own door, smiling
cynically to himself.
"She looked right and left, but she forgot to look up!" he muttered.
"Ah! those small details. And what does that mean? Anyway, I know which
door she came out of!"
He glanced at his watch--precisely half-past eleven. He made a note of
the time in his pocket-book and went to bed. And next morning, rising
early, as was his custom, he descended to the ground floor by means of
the stairs instead of the lift, and as he passed the door from which he
had seen Mrs. Marlow emerge he mentally registered the number.
Fifty-three. Number fifty-three.
Allerdyke, who could not exist without fresh air and exercise, went for a
stroll before breakfast when he was in London--he usually chose the
Embankment, as being the nearest convenient open space, and thither he
now repaired, thinking things over. There were many new features of this
affair to think about, but the one of the previous night now occupied his
thoughts to the exclusion of the others. What was this woman doing,
coming--with evident secrecy--out of one set of rooms, and entering
another at that late hour? He wanted to know--he must find out--and he
would find out with ease,--and indirectly, from Fullaway.
Fullaway always took his breakfast at a certain table in a certain corner
of the coffee-room at the hotel; there Allerdyke had sometimes joined
him. He found the American there, steadily eating, when he returned from
his walk, and he dropped into a chair at his side with a casual remark
about the fine morning.
"Didn't set eyes on you last night at all," he went on, as he picked up
his napkin. "Off somewhere, eh?"
"Spent the evening out," answered Fullaway. "Not often I do, but I
did--for once in a way. Van Koon and I (you don't know Van Koon, do
you?--he's a fellow countryman of mine, stopping here for the summer,
and a very clever man) we dined at the Carlton, and then went to the
Haymarket Theatre. I was going to ask you to join us, Allerdyke, but you
were out and hadn't come in by the time we had to go."
"Thank you--no, I didn't get in until seven o'clock or so," answered
Allerdyke. "So I'd a quiet evening."
"No news, I suppose?" asked Fullaway, going vigorously forward with his
breakfast. "Heard nothing from the police authorities?"
"Nothing," replied Allerdyke. "I suppose they're doing things in their
own way, as usual."
"Just so," assented Fullaway. "Well, it's an odd thing to me that nobody
comes forward to make some sort of a shot at that reward! Most
extraordinary that the man of the Eastbourne Terrace affair should have
been able to get clean away without anybody in London having seen him--or
at any rate that the people who must have seen him are unable to connect
him with the murder of that woman. Extraordinary!"
"It's all extraordinary," said Allerdyke. He took up a newspaper which
Fullaway had thrown down and began to talk of some subject that caught
his eye, until Fullaway rose, pleaded business, and went off to his rooms
upstairs. When he had gone Allerdyke reconsidered matters. So Fullaway
had been out the night before, had he--dining out, and at a theatre?
Then, of course, it would be quite midnight before he got in. Therefore,
presumably, he did not know that his secretary was about his rooms--and
entering and leaving another suite close by. No--Fullaway knew
nothing--that seemed certain.
The remembrance of what he had seen sent Allerdyke, as soon as he had
breakfasted, to the hall of the hotel, and to the register of guests.
There was no one at the register at that moment, and he turned the pages
at his leisure until he came to what he wanted. And there it was--in
plain black and white--
NUMBER 53. MR. JOHN VAN KOON. NEW YORK CITY, U.S.A.