He had no intention of asking Miss Slade anything when he left the City for Bayswater that evening, but chance threw him into her immediate company in one of the lounges, where, after dinner, they met at a table on which the evening newspapers were laid out. As Miss Slade picked up one, Appleyard picked up another—certain big, strong letters on the front sheets of both gave him an opening.
"Have you read anything about this affair?" he asked, with apparent carelessness, pointing to a row of capitals. "This extraordinary murder-robbery business which is becoming the talk of the town? Murders of three people—theft of nearly three hundred thousand pounds' worth of jewels—and fifty thousand pounds reward! It's colossal!"
Miss Slade, without showing the slightest shade of interest, shook her head.
"I don't read murders," she answered. "Fifty thousand pounds reward!
That's an awful lot, isn't it?"
"Worth trying for, anyway!" replied Appleyard. He gave her a sly look, and smiled grimly. "I think I'll try for it," he said. "Fifty thousand!"
"How could any one try unless he or she's some clue?" she asked. "If you don't know anything about it, or any of the persons concerned, where would you begin?"
"There are plenty of persons named in these accounts about whom one could find something out, at any rate," replied Appleyard, tapping the newspaper with his finger. "There's a Russian Princess with a sneezy sort of name; a Yorkshire manufacturer named Allerdyke; an American man called Franklin Fullaway—all seem to be well-known people in town. You ever hear of any of them?"
Miss Slade turned a face of absolute indifference on him and the paper to which he was pointing.
"Never," she answered calmly. "But I daresay I shall hear of them now—for nine days."
Then she went off, with her own newspaper, and Appleyard carried his to a corner and sat down.