“Clear as noonday, sir,” answered Gaffney.  “I understand—­I’ve been at that sort of game more than once.”

“All right,” said Appleyard.  “I leave it to you.  Take every care—­I don’t want this man to get the least suspicion that he’s followed.  And—­” He hesitated, considering his plans over again.  “Yes,” he went on, “there’s just another detail that I may mention—­it’ll save time.  This hunchback gentleman’s name is Rayner—­Mr. Gerald Rayner.  Can you remember it?”

“As well as my own,” answered Gaffney.  “Mr. Gerald Rayner.  I’ve got it.”

“Very good.  Now, then, can you trust this friend of yours?” asked Appleyard.  “Is he a chap of common sense?”

“It’s my own brother,” replied Gaffney.  “Some people say I’m the sharper of the two, some say he is.  There’s a pair of us, anyhow.”

“That’ll do,” said Appleyard.  “Now, wherever you see this Mr. Rayner set down, let your brother get out of your cab and take particular notice if he goes into any shop, office, flats, buildings, anything of that sort which bears his name—­Rayner.  D’you see?  I want to know what his business is.  And now that you know what I want, you and your brother put your heads together and try to find it out, and come to me when you’ve done, and I’ll make it worth your while.  You’d better go now and make your arrangements.”

Gaffney went away, evidently delighted with his commission, and Appleyard turned to his business of the day, wondering if he was not going to waste the chauffer’s time and his own money.  Next morning he purposely hung about the Pompadour until the time for Rayner’s departure arrived; from one of the front windows he saw the hunchback enter his brougham and drive away; at the same moment he saw a neat private cab, driven by Gaffney, and occupied by a smart-looking young gentleman in a silk hat, come along and follow in quite an ordinary and usual manner.  And on that he himself went to Gresham Street and waited.

Gaffney and his brother turned in during the morning, both evidently primed with news.  Appleyard shut himself into his office with them.

“Well?” he asked.

“Easy job, Mr. Appleyard,” replied Gaffney.  “Drove straight through the Park, Constitution Hill, the Mall, Strand, to top of Arundel Street.  There he got out; brougham went off—­back—­he walked down street.  So my brother here he got out too, and strolled down street after him.  He’ll tell you the rest, sir.”

“Just as plain as what he’s told,” said the other Gaffney.  “I followed him down the street; he walked one side, I t’other side.  He went into Clytemnestra House—­one of those big houses of business flats and offices—­almost at the bottom.  I waited some time to see if he was settled like, or if it was only a call he was making.  Then I went into the hall of Clytemnestra House, as if I was looking for somebody.  There are two boards in that hall with the names of tenants painted on ’em.  But there’s not that name—­Gerald Rayner.  Still, I’ll tell you what there is, sir—­there’s a name that begins with the same initials—­G.R.”