“Then you know London well, of course,” suggested Appleyard.

“Never went out of it much, sir, till I went down to Bradford to this present job,” replied Gaffney.  “I shouldn’t have left it if Mr. Allerdyke hadn’t given me extra good wages and a real good place.”

Appleyard tossed Allerdyke’s note across his desk.

“You see what Mr. Allerdyke says,” he remarked.  “Wants me to find you something to do while he’s off.  How long is he likely to be off?”

“He said he might be back to-morrow night, sir,” answered Gaffney, glancing at the note.  “But possibly not till the day after to-morrow.”

“Well, I don’t know that there’s anything you can do here,” said Appleyard.  “We’re not particularly busy, and we’ve a full staff.  But,” he continued, with a sharp glance at the chauffeur, “there’s something you can do for me, privately, to-morrow morning—­a quite private matter—­a matter entirely between ourselves.  I’ll account to Mr. Allerdyke for your time, but I don’t want even him to know about this job that you can do for me—­I’ll pay you for doing it out of my own pocket.”

“Just as you think right, sir,” answered Gaffney.  “So long as you make it right with the guv’nor, I’m willing.”

“Very well,” said Appleyard.  He paused a moment, and then lowered his voice.  “You’ve seen about this tremendous reward that’s being offered in Mr. James Allerdyke’s case?” he asked, with another sharp look.  “You know what I mean?”

Gaffney’s shrewd face grew shrewder, and he nodded knowingly.

“I know!” he said.  “Fifty thousand!  A fortune, sir!”

“What I want you to do,” continued Appleyard, “may lead to something relating to that, and it mayn’t.  Anyway, I’ll make you all right.  Now, listen carefully.  Do you think you could get hold of a private motor to-morrow morning?  A smart, private cab in which you could put a friend of yours—­well dressed—­would be the thing.  Early.”

“Easy as winking, sir,” answered Gaffney.  “Know the cab, and know a friend o’mine who’d sit in it—­as long as you like.”

“Very good,” said Appleyard.  “Now, then, do you know Lancaster Gate?”

“Do I know St. Paul’s?” exclaimed Gaffney, half-derisively.  “Used to drive for an old gent who lived in Porchester Terrace.”

“Oh!” replied Appleyard.  “Then I daresay you know the Pompadour Private Hotel?”

“As well as I know my own fingers,” responded Gaffney.  “Driven to and from it many a hundred times.”

“Just the man I want, then,” continued Appleyard.  “Now, to-morrow morning, get your cab early—­put your friend in it—­dressed up, of course—­and at half-past nine to the very minute drive slowly past the front door of the Pompadour.  You’ll see a private motor-brougham there—­dark green—­you’ll also see a hunchbacked gentleman enter it—­you can’t mistake him.  Follow him!  Never mind where he goes, or how long it takes to get there—­or how few minutes it takes to get there, for that matter!—­follow him and find out where that private cab puts him down.  Then—­come and report to me.  Is that all clear?”