In this supposition Allerdyke was right.  The police authorities, finding that the affair had assumed dimensions of an astonishing magnitude, decided to seek the aid of the Press, and to publish the entire story in the fullest possible fashion.  And Allerdyke and all London woke next morning to find the newspapers alive with a new sensation, and every other man asking his neighbour what it all meant.  Three mysterious murders—­two big thefts—­together—­the newspaper world had known nothing like it for years, and the only regrets in Fleet Street were those of the men who would have sacrificed their very noses to have got the story exclusively to themselves.  But the police authorities had exercised a wise generosity, and no one newspaper knew more than another at that stage—­they all, as Fullaway said to Allerdyke at breakfast, got a fair start, and from that one could run their own race.

“We shall be to these Pressmen as a pot of honey to flies,” he observed.  “Take my advice, Allerdyke—­see none of them, and if you should—­as you will—­get buttonholed and held up, refuse to say a word.”

“You can leave that to me,” answered Allerdyke, with a twitch of his determined jaw.  “It ’ud be a clever newspaper chap that would get aught out of me.  I’ve other fish to fry than to talk to these gentry.  And what good will all this newspaper stuff do?”

“Lots!” replied Fullaway.  “It will draw attention.  There’ll already be a few thousand amateur detectives looking out for the man who left the French maid dead in Eastbourne Terrace, and a few hundred amateur criminologists racking their brains for a plausible theory of the whole thing.  Oh, yes, it’s a good thing to arouse public interest, Allerdyke.  All that’s wanted now is a rousing reward.  Have you thought of that?”

“Didn’t I mention it to the man at Scotland Yard yesterday?” said Allerdyke.  “I’m game to find aught reasonable in the way of brass.  But,” he added, with a touch of true Yorkshire caution, “I’ve been thinking that over during the night, and it seems to me that there are two other parties who ought to come in at it, with me, of course.  Miss Lennard and the Princess, d’ye see?  If they’re willing, I am.”

“You mean a joint reward for the detection of the murderer and the recovery of the jewels?” suggested Fullaway.

“Well, you can be pretty certain, by now, that the murders and the thefts are all the work of one gang,” replied Allerdyke.  “So it’s long as it’s short.  These two women want their pearls and their diamonds back—­I want to know who killed my cousin James.  We’re all three in the same boat, really; so if we make up a good, substantial purse between us—­what?”

“Good!” agreed Fullaway.  “We’ll hear what the Princess says when she arrives to-night.  I guess we shall all know better where we exactly are when we’ve heard what she has to say.”

“If she’s like most women that’s lost aught in the way of finery,” remarked Allerdyke drily, “she’ll have plenty to say.”