CHAPTER XVI
MR. GERALD RAYNER
There were various reasons why Ambler Appleyard's wonder had often beenaroused by the man to whom Miss Slade had stopped to speak. He wonderedabout him, first of all, because of his personal appearance. That wasstriking enough to excite wonder in anybody, for he was one of thoseremarkable men who possess great beauty of countenance allied tounfortunate deformity of body. The face was that of a poet and adreamer, the body that of a hunchback and a cripple. Painter orsculptor alike would have rejoiced to depict the face on canvas orcarve it in marble--its perfect shape, fine tinting, the lines of thefeatures, the beauty of the eyes, the wealth of the dark, clusteringhair, were all as near artistic perfection as could be. But all elsespoke of deformity--the badly bent back, the twisted body, the shortleg, the misshapen foot. It was as if Nature had endeavoured in somewickedly mischievous freak to show how beauty and ugliness can becombined in one creature.
That was one reason for wonder in Appleyard's mind--he had never comeacross quite this type before, though he knew that hunchbacks andcripples are often gifted with unusual strength, and more than usual goodlooks, as if in ironic compensation for their other disadvantages. Butthere were others. Mr. Gerald Rayner--everybody knew everybody else'sname in that private hotel, for they were all more or less permanentresidents--was something of a mystery man. In spite of his deformity, hewas the best-dressed man in the house--they were all smart men there, butnone of them came up to him in the way of clothes, linen, and personaladornment, always in the best and most cultured taste. Also it was easyto gather that he was a young man of large means. Although he made fulluse of the public rooms, and was always in and about them of an evening,from dinner-time to a late hour, he tenanted a private suite ofapartments in the hotel--those residents, few in number, who had beenprivileged to obtain entrance to them spoke with almost awed admirationof their occupant's books, pictures, and objects of art. Mr. GeraldRayner, it was evident, was a man of culture--that, indeed, was shown byhis conversation. And at first Appleyard had set him down as a poet, oran artist, or a writing man of some sort--a dilettante who possessedprivate means. Then, being a sharp observer of all that went on aroundhis own centre, he began to perceive that he must be mistaken inthat--Rayner was obviously a business man, like himself. For everymorning, at precisely half-past nine, a smart motor-brougham arrived atthe door of the private hotel and carried Rayner off Citywards; everyafternoon at exactly half-past five the same conveyance brought him back.Only business men, said Appleyard, are so regular, so punctual; thereforeRayner must be a business man.
But nobody in that hotel knew anything whatever of Rayner, beyond whatthey saw of him within its walls. Nobody knew whither the motor-broughamcarried him, what he did when he reached his destination, nobody knewwhat or who he was. Appleyard, who was always knocking about the heart ofthe City, who was for ever in its business streets, who knew all the Cityclubs, all the best City restaurants, and was familiar with all sortsand shades of life in the City, never saw Rayner in any of his ownpurlieus. Accordingly, he came to the conclusion that Rayner's business,whatever it was, did not take him to the City. Nevertheless, it wascertain, in Appleyard's opinion, that he was in business, and paidscrupulous attention to his daily duties.
Over the edge of his newspaper he watched Rayner and Miss Slade meet,exchange a word or two, and retire to a corner of an inner lounge inwhich they often sat talking together. He had often seen them talkingtogether, and it had struck him that they seemed to talk with more thanordinary confidence. The hunchback was on terms of easy familiarity witheverybody in the house, and he had a remarkable range of topics. He couldtalk sport, books, finance, politics, art, science, history,theology--the variety of his conversation was astonishing. But Appleyardhad begun to notice that he rarely talked to any single person with theexception of Miss Slade--he would join a group in smoking-room ordrawing-room and enter gaily into whatever was being discussed, but heseemed to have no desire to hold a _tete-a-tete_ talk with any one exceptthis young woman, who was now as much an object of mystery andspeculation to Appleyard as he himself was. They were often seen talkingtogether in quiet corners--and some of the old maids and eligible widowswere already saying that Miss Slade was setting her cap at Mr. Rayner'sevident deep purse.
Ambler Appleyard went to bed that night wondering greatly about twomatters--first, why Miss Slade was Miss Slade in Bayswater and Mrs.Marlow at Fullaway's office; second, if Miss Slade or Mrs. Marlow,whichever she really was, had any secrets with the mysterious Mr.Rayner. From that he got to wondering who Rayner really was, and whathis business was. And this process of speculation began again nextmorning, and continued all the way to the Gresham Street warehouse,and by the time he had arrived there he had half-determined to findout more about Miss Slade than was known to him up to then--and also,since he appeared to be such great friends with Miss Slade, about Mr.Gerald Rayner.
"But how?" he mused as he ran up the steps to the warehouse. "I'm not aprivate detective, and I don't propose to employ one. If I knew somesharp fellow--"
Just then he caught sight of Gaffney, who sat on a bale of goods withinthe warehouse door, holding a note in his hand. He stood up with a grinof friendly recognition when he saw Appleyard.
"Morning, sir," he said. "Letter from Mr. Allerdyke for you. No answer,but I was to wait till you'd read it."
Appleyard opened the note there and then. It was a mere hurried scrawl,saying that Allerdyke was just setting off for Hull, in obedience to acall from the police; as Gaffney had nothing to do, would Appleyard makeuse of him during Allerdyke's absence?
Appleyard bade Gaffney wait a while, went into his office, ran throughhis correspondence, gave the morning's orders out to the warehouseman,and called the chauffeur inside.
"Gaffney," he said as he carefully closed the door on them, "you're aLondoner, aren't you?"
Gaffney smiled widely.
"Ought to be, Mr. Appleyard," he answered. "I was born within sound ofBow Bells, anyhow. Off Aldersgate Street, sir. Yes, I'm a Cockney,right enough."
"Then you know London well, of course," suggested Appleyard.
"Never went out of it much, sir, till I went down to Bradford to thispresent job," replied Gaffney. "I shouldn't have left it if Mr. Allerdykehadn't given me extra good wages and a real good place."
Appleyard tossed Allerdyke's note across his desk.
"You see what Mr. Allerdyke says," he remarked. "Wants me to find yousomething to do while he's off. How long is he likely to be off?"
"He said he might be back to-morrow night, sir," answered Gaffney,glancing at the note. "But possibly not till the day after to-morrow."
"Well, I don't know that there's anything you can do here," saidAppleyard. "We're not particularly busy, and we've a full staff. But," hecontinued, with a sharp glance at the chauffeur, "there's something youcan do for me, privately, to-morrow morning--a quite private matter--amatter entirely between ourselves. I'll account to Mr. Allerdyke for yourtime, but I don't want even him to know about this job that you can dofor me--I'll pay you for doing it out of my own pocket."
"Just as you think right, sir," answered Gaffney. "So long as you make itright with the guv'nor, I'm willing."
"Very well," said Appleyard. He paused a moment, and then lowered hisvoice. "You've seen about this tremendous reward that's being offered inMr. James Allerdyke's case?" he asked, with another sharp look. "You knowwhat I mean?"
Gaffney's shrewd face grew shrewder, and he nodded knowingly.
"I know!" he said. "Fifty thousand! A fortune, sir!"
"What I want you to do," continued Appleyard, "may lead to somethingrelating to that, and it mayn't. Anyway, I'll make you all right. Now,listen carefully. Do you think you could get hold of a private motorto-morrow morning? A smart, private cab in which you could put a friendof yours--well dressed--would be the thing. Early."
"Easy as winking, sir," answered Gaffney. "Know the cab, and know afriend o'mine who'd sit in it--as l
ong as you like."
"Very good," said Appleyard. "Now, then, do you know Lancaster Gate?"
"Do I know St. Paul's?" exclaimed Gaffney, half-derisively. "Used todrive for an old gent who lived in Porchester Terrace."
"Oh!" replied Appleyard. "Then I daresay you know the PompadourPrivate Hotel?"
"As well as I know my own fingers," responded Gaffney. "Driven to andfrom it many a hundred times."
"Just the man I want, then," continued Appleyard. "Now, to-morrowmorning, get your cab early--put your friend in it--dressed up, ofcourse--and at half-past nine to the very minute drive slowly past thefront door of the Pompadour. You'll see a private motor-broughamthere--dark green--you'll also see a hunchbacked gentleman enter it--youcan't mistake him. Follow him! Never mind where he goes, or how long ittakes to get there--or how few minutes it takes to get there, for thatmatter!--follow him and find out where that private cab puts him down.Then--come and report to me. Is that all clear?"
"Clear as noonday, sir," answered Gaffney. "I understand--I've been atthat sort of game more than once."
"All right," said Appleyard. "I leave it to you. Take every care--Idon't want this man to get the least suspicion that he's followed.And--" He hesitated, considering his plans over again. "Yes," he wenton, "there's just another detail that I may mention--it'll save time.This hunchback gentleman's name is Rayner--Mr. Gerald Rayner. Can youremember it?"
"As well as my own," answered Gaffney. "Mr. Gerald Rayner. I've got it."
"Very good. Now, then, can you trust this friend of yours?" askedAppleyard. "Is he a chap of common sense?"
"It's my own brother," replied Gaffney. "Some people say I'm the sharperof the two, some say he is. There's a pair of us, anyhow."
"That'll do," said Appleyard. "Now, wherever you see this Mr. Rayner setdown, let your brother get out of your cab and take particular notice ifhe goes into any shop, office, flats, buildings, anything of that sortwhich bears his name--Rayner. D'you see? I want to know what his businessis. And now that you know what I want, you and your brother put yourheads together and try to find it out, and come to me when you've done,and I'll make it worth your while. You'd better go now and make yourarrangements."
Gaffney went away, evidently delighted with his commission, and Appleyardturned to his business of the day, wondering if he was not going to wastethe chauffer's time and his own money. Next morning he purposely hungabout the Pompadour until the time for Rayner's departure arrived; fromone of the front windows he saw the hunchback enter his brougham anddrive away; at the same moment he saw a neat private cab, driven byGaffney, and occupied by a smart-looking young gentleman in a silk hat,come along and follow in quite an ordinary and usual manner. And on thathe himself went to Gresham Street and waited.
Gaffney and his brother turned in during the morning, both evidentlyprimed with news. Appleyard shut himself into his office with them.
"Well?" he asked.
"Easy job, Mr. Appleyard," replied Gaffney. "Drove straight through thePark, Constitution Hill, the Mall, Strand, to top of Arundel Street.There he got out; brougham went off--back--he walked down street. So mybrother here he got out too, and strolled down street after him. He'lltell you the rest, sir."
"Just as plain as what he's told," said the other Gaffney. "I followedhim down the street; he walked one side, I t'other side. He went intoClytemnestra House--one of those big houses of business flats andoffices--almost at the bottom. I waited some time to see if he wassettled like, or if it was only a call he was making. Then I went intothe hall of Clytemnestra House, as if I was looking for somebody. Thereare two boards in that hall with the names of tenants painted on 'em. Butthere's not that name--Gerald Rayner. Still, I'll tell you what there is,sir--there's a name that begins with the same initials--G.R."
"What name?" asked Appleyard.
"The name," replied the second Gaffney, "is Gavin Ramsay--Agent."