Then, being a sharp observer of all that went on around his own centre, he began to perceive that he must be mistaken in that--Rayner was obviously a business man, like himself.

For every 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.