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?"
"Clear as noonday, sir," answered Gaffney. "I understand--I've been at
that sort of game more than once.
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