ry
morning, at precisely half-past nine, a smart motor-brougham arrived at
the door of the private hotel and carried Rayner off Citywards; every
afternoon at exactly half-past five the same conveyance brought him back.
Only business men, said Appleyard, are so regular, so punctual; therefore
Rayner must be a business man.

But nobody in that hotel knew anything whatever of Rayner, beyond what
they saw of him within its walls. Nobody knew whither the motor-brougham
carried him, what he did when he reached his destination, nobody knew
what or who he was. Appleyard, who was always knocking about the heart of
the City, who was for ever in its business streets, who knew all the City
clubs, all the best City restaurants, and was familiar with all sorts
and shades of life in the City, never saw Rayner in any of his own
purlieus. Accordingly, he came to the conclusion that Rayner's business,
whatever it was, did not take him to the City. Nevertheless, it was
certain, in Appleyard's opinion, that he was in business, and paid
scrupulous attention to his daily duties.

Over the edge of his newspaper he watched Rayner and Miss Slade meet,
exchange a word or two, and retire to a corner of an inner lounge in
which they often sat talking together. He had often seen them talking
together, and it had struck him that they seemed to talk with more than
ordinary confidence. The hunchback was on terms of easy familiarity with
everybody in the house, and he had a remarkable range of topics. He could
talk sport, books, finance, politics, art, science, history,
theology--the variety of his conversation was astonishing. But Appleyard
had begun to notice that he rarely talked to any single person with the
exception of Miss Slade--he would join a group in smoking-room or
drawing-room and enter gaily into whatever was being discussed, but he
seemed to have no desire to hold a _tete-a-tete_ talk with any one except
this young woman, who was now as much an object of mystery and
speculation to Appleyard as he himself was. They were often seen talking
together in quiet corners--and some of the old maids and eligible widows
were already saying that Miss Slade was setting her cap at Mr. Rayner's
evident deep purse.

Ambler Appleyard went to bed that night wondering greatly about two
matters--first, why Miss Slade was Miss Slade in Bayswater and Mrs.
Marlow at Fullaway's office; second, if Miss Slade or Mrs. Marlow,
whichever she really was, had any s