So Purdie, having pencilled his London address on them, left
cards for Mr. Levendale and Miss Bennett, and, going back to his hotel,
settled himself in his quarters to await developments. He spent the
evening in reading the accounts of the inquest on Daniel Multenius--in
more than one of the newspapers they were full and circumstantial, and it
needed little of his shrewd perception to convince him that his old
schoolmate stood in considerable danger if he failed to establish his
ownership of the rings.
He had finished breakfast next morning and was thinking of strolling round
to Melky Rubinstein's lodgings, to hear if any news had come from
Lauriston, when a waiter brought him Ayscough's card, saying that its
presenter was waiting for him in the smoking-room. Purdie went there at
once: the detective, who looked unusually grave and thoughtful, drew him
aside into a quiet part of the room.
"There's a strange affair occurred during the night, Mr. Purdie," said
Ayscough, when they were alone. "And it's my opinion it's connected with
this Multenius affair."
"What is it?" asked Purdie.
"This," replied Ayscough.
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