The Rayner-Slade Amalgamation

by J. S. Fletcher

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE PHOTOGRAPH

  Allerdyke went off to Hull, post-haste, because of a telephone call whichroused him out of bed an hour before his usual time. It came fromChettle, the New Scotland Yard man who had been sent down to Hull as soonas the news of Lydenberg's murder arrived. Chettle asked Allerdyke tojoin him by the very next express, and to come alone; he asked him,moreover, not to tell Mr. Franklin Fullaway whither he was bound. AndAllerdyke, having taken a quick glance at a time-table, summoned Gaffney,told him of his journey, bade him keep his tongue quiet at the Waldorf,wrote his hasty note to Appleyard, dressed, and hurried away to King'sCross. He breakfasted on the train, and was in Hull by one o'clock, andChettle hailed him as he set foot on the platform, and immediately ledhim off to a cab which awaited them outside the station.

  "Much obliged to you for coming so promptly, Mr. Allerdyke," said thedetective. "And for coming by yourself--that was just what I wanted."

  "Aye, and why?" asked Allerdyke. "Why by myself? I've been wonderingabout that all the way down."

  Chettle, a sleek, comfortable-looking man, with a quiet manner and a slyglance, laughed knowingly, twiddling his fat thumbs as he leaned back inthe cab. "Oh, well, it doesn't do--in my opinion--to spread informationamongst too many people, Mr. Allerdyke," he said. "That's my notion ofthings, anyway. I just wanted to go into a few matters with you, alone,d'ye see? I didn't want that American gentleman along with you. Eh?"

  "Now, why?" asked Allerdyke. "Out with it!"

  "Well, you see, Mr. Allerdyke," answered the detective, "we know you.You're a man of substance, you've got a big stake in the country--you'reAllerdyke, of Allerdyke and Partners, Limited, Bradford and London. Butwe don't know Fullaway. He may be all right, but you could only call hima bird of passage, like. He can close down his business and be away outof England to-morrow, and, personally, I don't believe in letting himinto every secret about all this affair until we know more about him. Yousee, Mr. Allerdyke, there's one thing very certain--so far as we'veascertained at present, nobody but Fullaway, and possibly whoever's inhis employ, was acquainted with the fact that your cousin was carryingthose jewels from Russia to England. Nobody in this country, at any rate.And--it's a thing of serious importance, sir."

  Just what Appleyard had said!--what, indeed, no one of discernment couldhelp saying, thought Allerdyke. The sole knowledge, of course, was withFullaway and his lady clerk--so far as was known. Therefore--

  "Just so," he said aloud. "I see your point--of course, I've already seenit. Well, what are we going to do--now? You've brought me down here forsomething special, no doubt."

  "Quite so, sir," answered Chettle composedly. "I want to draw yourattention to some very special features and to ask you certain questionsarising out of 'em. We'll take things in order, Mr. Allerdyke. We'redriving now to the High Street--I want to show you the exact spot whereLydenberg was shot dead. After that we'll go to the police-station andI'll show you two or three little matters, and we'll have a talk aboutthem. And now, before we get to the High Street, I may as well tell youthat on examining Lydenberg's body very little was found in the way ofpapers--scarcely anything, and nothing connecting him with your cousin'saffair--in fact, the police here say they never saw a foreign gentlemanwith less on him in that way. But in the inside pocket of his overcoatthere was a postcard, which had been posted here in Hull. Here itis--and you'll see that it was the cause of taking him to the spot wherehe was shot."

  Chettle took from an old letter-case an innocent-looking postcard, on onecorner of which was a stain.

  "His blood," he remarked laconically. "He was shot clean through theheart. Well, you see, it's a mere line."

  Allerdyke took the card and looked at it with a mingled feeling ofrepulsion and fascination. The writing on it was thin, angular, upright,and it suggested foreign origin. And the communication was brief--andunsigned--

  "High Street morning eleven sharp left-hand side old houses."

  "You don't recognize that handwriting, of course, Mr. Allerdyke?" askedChettle. "Never seen it before, I suppose?"

  "No!" replied Allerdyke. "Never. But I should say it's a foreigner's."

  "Very likely," assented Chettle. "Aye, well, sir, it lured the man to hisdeath. And now I'll show you where he died, and how easy it was for themurderer to kill him and get away unobserved."

  He pulled the cab up at the corner of the High Street, and turnedsouthward towards the river, looking round at his companion with one ofhis sly smiles.

  "I daresay that you, being a Yorkshireman, Mr. Allerdyke, know all aboutthis old street," he remarked as they walked forward. "I never saw it,never heard of it, until the other day, when I was sent down on thisLydenberg business, but it struck me at once. I should think it's one ofthe oldest streets left in England."

  "It is," answered Allerdyke. "I know it well enough, and I've seen itchanged. It used to be the street of the old Hull merchants--they hadtheir houses and warehouses all combined, with gardens at the backrunning down to the river Hull. Queer old places there used to be in thisstreet, I can tell you when I was a lad!--of late years they've pulled alot of property down that had got what you might call thoroughlyworm-eaten--oh, yes, the place isn't half as ancient or picturesque as itwas even twenty years ago!"

  "There's plenty of the ancient about it still, for all that," observedChettle, with a dry laugh. "There was more than enough of it forLydenberg the other day, at any rate. Now, then, you remember what itsaid on the postcard--he was to walk down the High Street, on theleft-hand side, at eleven o'clock? Very well--down the High Street hewalks, on this side which we are now--he strolls along, by these oldhouses, looking about him, of course, for the person he was to meet. Thefew people who were about down here that morning, and who saw him, saidthat he was looking about from side to side. And all of a sudden a shotrang out, and Lydenberg fell--just here--right on this very pavement."

  He pulled Allerdyke up in a narrow part of the old street, jointed tothe flags, and then to the house behind them--an ancient, ramshackleplace, the doors and windows of which were boarded up, the entire fabricof which showed unmistakable readiness for the pick and shovel of thehouse-breaker. And he laid a hand on one of the shattered windows, closeby a big hole in the decaying wood.

  "There's no doubt the murderer was hidden behind this shutter, and thathe fired at Lydenberg from it, through this hole," he said. "So, you see,he'd only be a few feet from his man. He was evidently a good shot, and afellow of resolute nerve, for he made no mistake. He only fired once, buthe shot Lydenberg clean through the heart, dead!"

  "Anybody see it happen?" asked Allerdyke, staring about him at the sceneof the tragedy, and thinking how very ordinary and commonplace everythinglooked. "I suppose there'd be people about, though the street, at thisend, anyway, isn't as busy as it once was?"

  "Several people saw him fall," answered Chettle.

  "They say he jumped, spun round, and fell across the pavement. And theyall thought it was a case of suicide. That, of course, gave the murderera bigger and better chance of making off. You see, as these people saw noassailant, it never struck 'em that the shot had been fired from behindthis window. When they collected their thoughts, found it wasn't suicide,and realized that it was murder, the murderer was--Lord knows where! Frombehind these old houses, Mr. Allerdyke, there's a perfect rabbit-warrenof alleys, courts, slums, twists, and turns! The man could slip out atthe back, go left or right, mix himself up with the crowd on the quaysand wharves, walk into the streets, go anywhere--all in a minute or two."

  "Clever--very clever! You've no clue?" asked Allerdyke.

  "None; not a scrap!" replied the detective. "Bless you, there's score offoreigners knocking about Hull. Scores! Hundreds! We've done all we can,the local police and myself--we've no clue whatever. But, of course, itwas done by one of the gang."

  "By one of the gang!" exclaimed Allerdyke. "Ah you've got a theory ofyour own, then?"

  Chettle laughed quietly as they turned an
d retraced their steps upthe street.

  "It 'ud be queer if I hadn't, by this time," he answered. "Oh yes, I'vethought things out pretty well, and I should say our people at the Yardhave come to the same conclusion that I have--I'm not conceited enough,Mr. Allerdyke, to fancy that I'm the only person who's arrived at areasonable theory, not I?"

  "Well--what is your theory?" asked Allerdyke.

  "This," replied the detective. "The whole thing, the theft of thePrincess Nastirsevitch's jewels from your cousin, of Miss de Longarde'sor Lennard's jewels, was the work of a peculiarly clever gang--though itmay be of an individual--who made use of both Lydenberg and the Frenchmaid as instruments, and subsequently murdered those two in order tosilence them forever. I say it may be the work of an individual--it'squite possible that the man who killed the Frenchwoman is also the manwho shot Lydenberg--but it may be the work of one, two, or three separatepersons, acting in collusion. I believe that Lydenberg was the actualthief of the Princess's jewels from your cousin; that the Frenchwomanactually stole her mistress's jewels. But as to how it was worked--as towho invented and carried out the whole thing--ah!"

  "And to that--to the real secret of the whole matter--we haven't theghost of a clue!" muttered Allerdyke. "That's about it, eh?"

  Chettle laughed--a sly, suggestive laugh. He gave his companion one ofhis half-apologetic looks.

  "I'm not so sure, Mr. Allerdyke," he said. "We may have--and that's why Iwanted to see you by yourself. Come round to the police-station."

  In a quiet room in the usual drab and dismal atmosphere which Allerdykewas beginning to associate with police affairs, Chettle produced thepersonal property of the dead man, all removed, he said, from the StationHotel, for safe keeping.

  "There's little to go on, Mr. Allerdyke," he said, pointing to onearticle after another. "You'll remember that the man represented himselfas being a Norwegian doctor, who had come to Hull on private business. Hemay have been that--we're making inquiries about him in Christiania,where he hailed from. According to those who're in a position to speak,his clothing, linen, boots, and so on are all of the sort you'd get inthat country. But he'd no papers on him to show his business, no privateletters, no documents connecting him with Hull in any way: he hadn't evena visiting-card. He'd a return ticket--from Hull to Christiania--and he'dplenty of money, English and foreign. When I got down here, I helped thelocal police to go through everything--we even searched the linings ofhis clothing and ripped his one handbag to pieces. But we've found nomore than I've said. However--I've found something. Nobody knows thatI've found it. I haven't told the people here--I haven't even reportedit to headquarters in London. I wanted you to see it before I spoke of itto a soul. Look here!"

  Chettle opened a square cardboard box in which certain personal effectsbelonging to Lydenberg had been placed--one or two rings, a pocket-knife,his purse and its contents, a cigar-case, his watch and chain. He took upthe watch, detached it from the chain, and held it towards Allerdyke, whowas regarding these proceedings with intense curiosity.

  "You see this watch, Mr. Allerdyke," he said. "It's a watch of foreignmake--Swiss--and it's an old one, a good many years old, I should say.Consequently, it's a bit what we might call massive. Now, I was lookingat it yesterday--late last night, in fact--and an idea suddenly struckme. In consequence of that idea, I opened the back of the watch, anddiscovered--that!"

  He snapped open the case of the watch as he spoke and showed Allerdyke,neatly cut out to a circle, neatly fitted into the case, aphotograph--the photograph of James Allerdyke! And Allerdyke started asif he had been shot, and let out a sharp exclamation.

  "My God!" he cried. "James! James, by all that's holy--and in there!"

  "You recognize it, of course?" said Chettle, with a grim smile. "No doubtof it, eh?"

  "Doubt! Recognize!" exclaimed Allerdyke. "Lord, man--why, I took itmyself, not two months ago!"