u've no objection, have you?" he went on in subdued
tones, "if Van Koon and I have a try for that reward? It doesn't matter
to you, or to the Princess, or to Miss Lennard, who gets the reward so
long as the criminals are brought to justice and the goods found--eh? And
you know fifty thousand is--what it is."

"You've got an idea?" asked Allerdyke, regarding his questioner steadily.

"Frankly, yes--an idea--a notion," answered Fullaway. "Van Koon and I
have been discussing the whole affair--just now. He's a smart man, and
has had experience in these things on the other side. But, of course, we
don't want to give our idea away. We want to work in entire independence
of the police, for instance. What we're thinking of requires patience and
deep investigation. So we want to work on our own methods. See?"

"It doesn't matter to me who gets the reward--as you say," said Allerdyke
slowly. "I want justice. I'm not so much concerned about the jewels as
about who killed my cousin. I believe that man Lydenberg did the actual
killing--but who was at Lydenberg's back? Find that out, and--"

"Exactly--exactly!" broke in Fullaway. "The very thing! Well--you
understand, Allerdyke. Van Koon and I will want to keep our operations to
ourselves. We don't want police interference. So, if any of these
Scotland Yard chaps come to you here for talk or information, don't bring
me into it. And don't expect me to tell what we're doing until we've
carried out our investigations. No interim reports, you know, Allerdyke.
Personally, I believe we're on the track."

"Do just what you please," replied Allerdyke. "You're not the only two
who are after that reward. Go ahead--your own way."

He turned into the restaurant and ordered his lunch, and while it was
being brought sat drumming his fingers on the table, staring vacantly at
the people about him and wondering over the events of the morning.
Rayner's, or Ramsay's, vague hint that something might suddenly clear
everything up; Fullaway's announcement that he and Van Koon had put their
heads together; Mrs. Perrigo's story of the French maid and the young man
who led blue-ribboned pug-dogs--but all these were as nothing compared to
the fact that Mrs. Marlow had actually shown him the photograph which he
had until then firmly believed to lie hidden in the case of Lydenberg's
watch. That beat him.

"Is my blessed memory going wrong?" he said to himself. "Did I actually
print more than four copies of