“Um!” said Allerdyke.  “Um!  Now, in my humble opinion, Fullaway, that’s a good deal queerer than the Van Koon incident.  For look you here—­your secretary was talking to us in your room there at less than five minutes to one, and we left her here when we went out on the stroke of one.  And yet—­look at the wire!—­she handed that in at the East Strand post office within ten minutes after we’d left her!  What do you make of that?”

“Damnation!” exclaimed Fullaway.  “How the blazes do I know what to make of it!  I seem to be surrounded with—­God knows what hellish mysteries!  Allerdyke, is there a regular devil’s conspiracy, or—­what is there?”

Allerdyke made a show of looking at the telegram again.  In reality, he was considering matters.  Should he tell Fullaway what he knew?  He was more than a little tempted to do so.  But his natural sense of caution and reserve stopped the words before they reached his tongue, and he took another tack.

“You said just now, in talking to Delkin, that you’d the greatest confidence in this Mrs. Marlow, and had the best references with her, Fullaway,” he remarked.  “What references?”

“Good business references!” answered Fullaway excitedly.  “The best!  Firms of high standing in the City.  Couldn’t have had better.  Go and ask any of them about her—­I’ll lay my last dollar they will say the same.  Capital secretary—­clever woman—­thoroughly trustworthy!”

“What do you know about her private life?” asked Allerdyke.

“What the deuce has the woman’s private life to do with me?” snapped Fullaway.  “I know nothing.  So long as she comes here at ten, stops till five, and does her duty—­hang her private life!”

“Do you know where she lives?” asked Allerdyke imperturbably.  “But of course you do.”

“Then I don’t!” retorted Fullaway.  “Somewhere up town, I believe—­West End somewhere.  I don’t know.  I’ve nothing to do with her private affairs.  I never have had anything to do with the private affairs of any employee of mine.”

“She makes her private affairs have something to do with you though,” said Allerdyke, tapping the telegram significantly.  “But, in my opinion, that wire’s nothing but an excuse.  What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” exclaimed Fullaway.  “I’m about sick of the whole thing.”

Allerdyke pulled out his watch.

“I must go,” he said.  “I’ve a business appointment.  I’ll see you later.”

Fullaway made no reply, and Allerdyke left him, went downstairs and sought Gaffney, whom, having found, he led outside to the street.

“How soon can you lay hands on that brother of yours?” he asked.

“Twenty minutes—­in a cab, sir,” replied Gaffney.

“Get a cab, then, find him, and drive, both of you, to the warehouse,” commanded Allerdyke.  “You’ll find me there.”

He himself got a cab, too, and went off to Gresham Street, more puzzled and doubtful than ever.  He closeted himself with Ambler Appleyard and told him all the details of the eventful morning, and the manager listened in silence, taking everything in and making his own mental notes.  And with his usual acuteness of perception he quickly separated the important from the momentarily unimportant.