would be likely to be delivered in London if he sent it by that train.  Martindale told him that as near as he could say it would be delivered by noon on the next morning, and added that he could, by paying an extra fee, have it specially registered and delivered.  The gentleman at once acceded to this, handed the parcel over, paid for it, and left.  And in a few minutes after that, Martindale himself gave the parcel to the guard of the outgoing train.”

Chettle paused for a moment, and took a reflective pull at his glass.

“Now, then,” he went on, after an evident recollecting of his facts, “Martindale, of course, never saw the gentleman again, and dismissed such a very ordinary matter from his mind.  Early next morning he went off on his holiday—­where he went, right away up in Sutherland, papers were few and far between.  He only heard mere bits of news about all this affair.  But when he got back he turned up the Hull newspapers, and became convinced that the man who sent that parcel was—­your cousin!”

“Aye!” said Allerdyke, nodding his head.  “Aye!  I expected that.”

“He was sure it was your cousin,” continued Chettle, “from the description of him in the papers, and from one or two photos of him that had appeared, though, as you know, Mr. Allerdyke, those were poor things.  But to make sure, I showed him the photo which is inside Lydenberg’s watch-case.  ‘That’s the man!’ he said at once.  ’I should have known him again anywhere—­I’d a particularly good look at him.’  Very well—­that established who the sender of the parcel was.  Now then, the next thing was—­to whom was it sent.  Well, this Martindale had copied down the name and address from the station books, and he handed me the slip of paper.  Can you make any guess at it, Mr. Allerdyke?”

“Damn guess-work!” replied Allerdyke.  “Speak out!”

Chettle leaned nearer, with an instinctive glance at the door.  He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“That parcel was addressed to Franklin Fullaway, Esq., The Waldorf Hotel, Aldwych, London,” he said.  “There!”

Allerdyke slowly rose from his seat, stared at his visitor, half-moved across the floor, as if he had some instinctive notion of going somewhere—­and then suddenly sat down again.

“Aye!” he said.  “Aye!—­but was it ever delivered?”

“I’m coming to that,” replied Chettle.  “That, of course, is the big thing—­the prime consideration.  I heard all this young fellow Martindale had to tell—­nothing much more than that, except small details as to what would be the likely progress of the parcel, and then I gave him strict instructions to keep his own counsel until I saw him again—­after which I caught the afternoon train to town.  Martindale had told me where the parcel would be delivered from, so as soon as I arrived at King’s Cross I went to the proper place.  I had to tell ’em, of course, who I was, and what I was after, and to produce my credentials before they turned up their books and papers to trace the delivery of the parcel.  That, of course, wasn’t a long or difficult matter, as I had the exact date—­May 13th.  They soon put the delivery sheet of that particular morning before me.  And there it all was—­”