The Rayner-Slade Amalgamation Part 25

"No easy job, either! The ground's continually shifting and changing under one's very feet. But I don't mind telling you my present theory--somebody's got information of that jewel deal from Fullaway's office, somebody who had access to his papers, somebody who managed to steal that photo of mine from Mrs. Marlow for a few days or until they could reproduce it. What I want to find now is--an idea of that somebody.

And--I'll get it!--I'll move heaven and earth to get it! But--other matters. You say your folks at the Yard are going to follow up that Perrigo woman's clue? They think it important, then?"

"In the case of the Frenchwoman, yes," answered Chettle. He thrust his hand into a side-pocket and brought out a crumpled paper. "Here's a proof of the bill they're getting out," he said. "They set to work on that as soon as they'd got the information. That'll be up outside every police-station in a few hours, and it's gone out to the Press, too."

Allerd.y.k.e took the proof, still damp from the machine, and looked it over. It asked, in the usual formal language, for any information about a young man, dark, presumably a foreigner, who, about the middle of March, was in the habit of taking two pug dogs, generally bedecked with blue ribbons, into Kensington Gardens.

"There ought to be some response to that, you know, Mr. Allerd.y.k.e,"

remarked Chettle. "Somebody must remember and know something about that young fellow. But, upon my soul, as I said to Blindway just now, I don't know whether that bill's a mere advertis.e.m.e.nt or a--death warrant!"

"Death warrant!" exclaimed Allerd.y.k.e. "What d'you mean?"

Chettle chuckled knowingly.

"Mean," he said. "Why, this--if that young fellow who led pugs about, and talked to Mamselle Lisette in Kensington Gardens, is another of the cat's paws that this gang evidently made use of, I should say that when the gang sees he's being searched for, they'll out him, just as they outed her and Lydenberg. That's what I mean, Mr. Allerd.y.k.e--they'll do him in themselves before anybody else can get at him! See?"

Allerd.y.k.e saw. And when the detective had gone, he threw himself into a chair, lighted one of his strongest cigars, drew pen, ink, and paper to him, and began to work at his problem with a grim determination to evolve at any rate a clear theory of its possible solution.

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCERNING CARL FEDERMAN

Next morning, as Allerd.y.k.e was leaving the hotel with the intention of going down to Gresham Street, one of the hall-porters ran after and hailed him.

"You're wanted at the telephone, sir," he said. "Call for you just come through."

Allerd.y.k.e went back, to find himself hailed by Blindway. Would he drive on to the Yard at once and bring Mr. Fullaway with him?--both were wanted, particularly in connection with the Perrigo information.

Allerd.y.k.e promised for himself, and went upstairs to find Fullaway. He met him coming down, and gave him the message. Fullaway looked undecided.

"You know what I told you yesterday, Allerd.y.k.e," he said. "I didn't want to be bothered further with these police chaps. Van Koon and I are on a line of our own, and--"

"As you like," interrupted Allerd.y.k.e, "but all the same, if I were in your place I shouldn't refuse a chance of acquiring information. Even if you don't want to tell the police anything, that's no reason why you shouldn't learn something from them."

"There's that in it, certainly," a.s.sented Fullaway. "All right. You get a taxi and I'll join you in a minute or two."

As they got out of one cab at the police headquarters Celia Lennard appeared in another. She made a little grimace as the two men greeted her.

"Again!" she exclaimed, "What are we going to be treated to now? More old women with vague stories, I suppose. What good is it at all? And when am I going to hear something about my jewels?"

"You never know what you're going to hear when you visit these palatial halls," answered Fullaway. "You may be going to have the biggest surprise of your life, you know. They sent for you?"

"Rang me up in the middle of my breakfast," answered Celia. "Well--let's find out what new sensation this is. Some extraordinary creature on view again, of course."

The creature on view proved to be a little fat man, obviously French or Swiss, who sat, his rotund figure tightly enveloped in a frock-coat, the lapel of which was decorated with a bit of ribbon, on the edge of a chair facing the chief's desk. He was a nervous, alert little man; his carefully trimmed moustache and pointed beard quivered with excitement; his dark eyes blazed. And at sight of the elegantly attired lady he bounced out of his chair, swept his silk hat to the ground, and executed a deep bow of the most extreme politeness.

"This," observed the chief, with a smile at his visitors, "is Monsieur Aristide Bonnechose. M. Bonnechose believes that he can tell us something. It is a supplement to what Mrs. Perrigo told us yesterday. It relates, of course to the young man whom Mrs. Perrigo told us of--the young man who led pugs in Kensington Gardens."

"The pogs of Madame, my spouse," said M. Bonnechose, with a bow and a solemn expression. "Two pogs--Fifi and Chou-Chou."

"M. Bonnechose," continued the chief, regarding his company with yet another smile, "is the proprietor of a--what is your establishment, monsieur?"

"Cafe-restaurant, monsieur," replied M. Bonnechose, promptly and politely. "Small, but elegant. Of my name, monsieur--the Cafe Bonnechose, Oxford Street. Established nine years--I succeeded to a former proprietor, Monsieur Jules, on his lamented decease."

"I think M. Bonnechose had better tell us his history in his own fashion," remarked the chief, looking around. "You are aware, Mr.

Allerd.y.k.e, and you, too, Mr. Fullaway, and so I suppose are you Miss Lennard, that after hearing what Mrs. Perrigo had to tell us I put out a bill asking for information about the young man Mrs. Perrigo described, and the matter was also mentioned in last night's and this morning's papers. M. Bonnechose read about it in his newspaper, and so he came here at once. He tells me that he knew a young man who was good enough during the early spring, to occasionally take out Madame Bonnechose's prize dogs for an airing. That seems to have been the same man referred to by Mrs.

Perrigo. Now, M. Bonnechose, give us the details."

M. Bonnechose set down his tall, very Parisian hat on the edge of the chief's desk, and proceeded to use his hands in conjunction with his tongue.

"With pleasure, monsieur," he responded. "It is this way, then. You will comprehend that Madame, my spouse, and myself are of the busiest. We do not keep a great staff; accordingly we have much to do ourselves.

Consequently we have not much time to go out, to take the air. Madame, my spouse, she has a love for the dogs--she keeps two, Fifi and Chou-Chou--pogs. What they call pedigree dogs--valuable. Beautiful animals--but needing exercise. It is a trouble to Madame that they cannot disport themselves more frequently. Now, about the beginning of this spring, a young man--compatriot of my own--a Swiss from the Vaud canton--he begins coming to my cafe. Sometimes he comes for his lunch--sometimes he drops in, as they say, for a cup of coffee. We find out, he and I, that we come from the same district. In the event, we become friendly."

"This young man's name, M. Bonnechose?" asked the chief.

"What we knew him by--Federman," replied M. Bonnechose. "Carl Federman.

He told me he was looking out for a job as valet to a rich man. He had been a waiter--somewhere in London--some hotel, I think--I did not pay much attention. Anyway, while he was looking for his job he certainly had plenty of money--plenty! He do himself very well with his lunches--sometimes he come and have his dinner at night. We are not expensive, you understand--nice lunch for two shillings, nice dinner for three--nothing to him, that--he always carry plenty of money in his pockets. Well, then, of course, having nothing to do, often he talks to me and Madame. One day we talk of the pogs, then walking about the establishment. He remarks that they are too fat. Madame sighs and says the poor darlings do not get sufficient exercise. He is good-natured, this Federman--he say at once 'I will exercise them--I, myself,' So he come next day, like a good friend, Madame puts blue ribbons on the pogs, and bids them behave nicely--away they go with Federman for the excursion. Many days he thus takes them--to Hyde Park, to Kensington Gardens--out of the neighbourliness, you understand. Madame is much obliged to him--she regards him as a kind young man--eh? And then, all of a sudden, we do not see Federman any more--no. Nor hear of him until monsieur asks for news of him in the papers. I see that news last night--Madame sees it! We start--we look at each other--we regard ourselves with comprehension. We both make the same exclamation--'It is Federman! He is wanted! He has done something!' Then Madame says, 'Aristide, in the morning, you will go to the police commissary,' I say 'It shall be done--we will have no mystery around the Cafe Bonnechose.'

Monsieur, I am here--and I have spoken!"

"And that is all you know, M. Bonnechose?" asked the chief.

"All, monsieur, absolutely all!"

"About when was it that this young man first came to your cafe, then?"

"About the beginning of March, or end of February, monsieur--it was the beginning of the good weather, you understand."

"And he left off coming--when?"

"Beginning of April, monsieur--after that we never see him again. Often we say to ourselves, 'Where is Federman?' The pogs, they look at the seat which he was accustomed to take, as much as to ask the same question.

But," concluded M. Bonnechose, with a dismal shake of his close-cropped head, and a spreading forth of his hands, "he never visit us no more--no!"

"Now, listen, M. Bonnechose," said the chief; "did this man ever give you any particulars about himself?"

"None but what I have told you, monsieur--and which I do not now remember."

"Ever tell you where he lived in London---at the time he was visiting you?"

"No, monsieur--never."

"Did he ever come to your place accompanied by anybody? Bring any friends there?"

M. Bonnechose put himself into an att.i.tude of deep thought. He remained in it for a moment or two; then he exchanged it for one of joyful recollection.

"On one occasion, a lady!" he exclaimed. "A Frenchwoman. Tall--that is, taller than is usual amongst Frenchwomen--slender--elegant. Dark--dark, black eyes--not beautiful, you understand, but--engaging."