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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41130 ***
+
+The Stolen Statesman
+Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery.
+By William Le Queux
+Published by Skeffington and Son Ltd, London.
+
+The Stolen Statesman, by William Le Queux.
+
+________________________________________________________________________
+
+________________________________________________________________________
+THE STOLEN STATESMAN, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.
+
+CHAPTER ONE.
+
+CONCERNING SHEILA MONKTON.
+
+As the Right Honourable Reginald Monkton walked towards Charing Cross on
+that June morning his fifty-odd years appeared to weigh lightly upon him
+True, his hair was tinged with grey, yet that was but natural after over
+twenty years of political strife and Party bickering, of hard-fought
+divisions in the House, and of campaigns of various sorts up and down
+the country.  His career had been a brilliantly outstanding one ever
+since he had graduated at Cambridge.  He had risen to be a Bencher of
+the Inner Temple; had been, among other things, Quain Professor of Law
+at University College, London.  In Parliament he had sat for North-West
+Manchester for ten years, afterwards for East Huntingdon, and later for
+the Govan Division of Glasgow.  Among other political appointments he
+had held was that of a Junior Lord of the Treasury, afterwards that of
+Parliamentary Under-Secretary to the Home Office, and now in the latest
+Administration he had been given the portfolio of Colonial Secretary.
+
+His one regret was that while he loved the country, and more especially
+Fydinge, that fine old Elizabethan manor house in Leicestershire, not
+far from Melton Mowbray, yet he was compelled to live in London and
+endure the fevered political and social life of the metropolis.
+
+That morning, as he turned from Charing Cross towards Pall Mall, he was
+in a pensive mood.  True, that little knot of people had spontaneously
+expressed their approval, and perhaps he was secretly gratified.
+Whatever popular men may say to the contrary, it is always the small
+appreciations that please.  Reginald Monkton was far more gratified by a
+schoolgirl asking for his autograph in her well-thumbed album, than by
+the roars of applause that greeted his open and fearless speeches in the
+huge halls of Manchester, Birmingham, or Glasgow.
+
+The millions of Britain knew him.  His portrait appeared regularly in
+the illustrated papers, sometimes in declamatory attitude with his mouth
+open, his right fist in the palm of his left hand, addressing a great
+audience.  But that morning, as he passed the "Senior"--as the United
+Service Club is known to officialdom--his thoughts were serious.  He had
+tasted most of the sweets of life, and all the delights of popularity.
+Yet that day, the eighth of June, was the fourth anniversary of the
+death of Sheila, his beloved wife, the fine, self-sacrificing helpmate
+of his early days, the woman who had moulded his career and seen him
+through many hours of disappointment and tribulation, and who, with her
+woman's amazing intuition and tact, had at the crisis of his life given
+him that sound advice which had swept him high upon the crest of the
+wave of popularity.
+
+He recollected that it was on a bright sunny June day--just as that
+was--when, in that little villa amid the feathery palms at Mentone, he
+had held his dear one's wasted hard while her eyes had slowly closed in
+her last long sleep.
+
+A lump arose in his throat as he turned into Cockspur Street, heedless
+of the busy bustle of London life, or that two honourable Members had
+nodded to him.  So absorbed was he that he had only stared at them
+blankly and passed on.
+
+Like many another man whose name is a household word in Britain to-day,
+all his popularity counted as nothing to him, and even though he led the
+busy life of a Cabinet Minister, yet he was very lonely at heart.
+
+For a second he held his breath, then, setting his wide jaws in hard
+determination to put aside those bitter thoughts of the past, and still
+unaware that he was being followed, he crossed the road and entered the
+Carlton Hotel.
+
+The young woman in plain navy blue who had followed him from Downing
+Street passed by, and continued until she reached the corner of Waterloo
+Place, when she turned, retraced her steps, and, entering the hotel by
+the door in Pall Mall, glanced into the palm-court with quick, furtive
+eyes.  Then, apparently satisfying herself, she went along the narrow
+corridor and emerged into the Haymarket.
+
+Again turning the corner into Pall Mall she drew out her handkerchief to
+dab her nose again, and afterwards hailed a taxi and drove away.
+
+On the kerb opposite stood the thick-set young man, who, having seen her
+signal, watched her leave, and then crossed and entered the hotel.
+
+Reginald Monkton, on entering the palm-court after leaving his hat and
+cane, found his daughter Sheila seated at one of the little tables with
+a spruce, well-set-up, refined young man, awaiting him.
+
+The young man sprang up eagerly, and, putting out his hand, exclaimed:
+
+"It's awfully good of you to come, Mr Monkton!  I know how terribly
+busy you must be."
+
+"Delighted, my dear Austin," declared the statesman.  "Delighted!  The
+Cabinet was just over in time, so I've walked along.  Well, Sheila," he
+asked merrily, turning to his daughter, "what have you been doing this
+morning?"
+
+"Oh!" replied the pretty, fair-haired girl, who was very daintily, yet
+not showily, dressed.  "I've not been doing much, father.  I went to
+Bond Street for you, and then I called on Cicely Wheeler.  She and her
+husband are off to Dinard to-morrow.  I've asked them to dine with us
+to-night."
+
+"Ah!  Then you will have to entertain them, I fear, as I must be down at
+the House."
+
+"What a pity!" replied the girl in disappointment.  "I thought you said
+you would dine at home to-night!"
+
+"I intended to do so, but find it will be impossible," declared her
+father as the trio made a move into the restaurant, filled as it was
+with a gay London throng who were lunching to the well-modulated strains
+of the Roumanian orchestra.
+
+Of the many pretty girls seated at the tables certainly none could
+compare with Sheila Monkton.  Indeed, more than one young man turned to
+admire her as she seated herself and drew off her gloves, and they
+envied the good-looking young fellow with whom she was laughing so
+happily.  She had just turned twenty.  Her clear-cut features were
+flawless; her healthy complexion, her clear hazel eyes, her soft fair
+hair, and her small mouth combined to impart to her sweetness and
+daintiness that were both peculiarly attractive.  Her black velvet hat
+trimmed with saxe blue suited her soft countenance admirably, while the
+graceful poise of her head had often been admired by artists; indeed,
+she was at that very period sitting to Howe, the R.A., for her portrait
+for next year's Academy.
+
+As for Austin Wingate, her companion, he was about twenty-four, and if
+not exactly an Adonis he was handsome enough, clean-shaven, with black
+hair, eyes of a dark grey, and a mouth which needed no moustache to hide
+it.  His figure was that of the young man of pre-war days whom you met
+by the dozen in the High at Oxford, broad-shouldered, muscular, and full
+of natural energy and grace.
+
+Women who met Austin Wingate for the first time usually thought him an
+ordinary easy-going fellow of that type known as a "nut," who was
+careless as long as he lived his own go-ahead town life, the centre of
+which was the Automobile Club.  Yet they would soon discern a certain
+deep thoughtful expression in his eyes and a gravity about the lips
+which at once upset the first estimate they had made of his character.
+
+It was true that young Wingate was a merry, careless young fellow.  He
+lived in cosy chambers in Half Moon Street, and his circle of friends,
+young men of his own age, were a rather wild lot.  Most of them were
+ardent motorists, and nearly all were habitues of that centre of
+motoring in Pall Mall.
+
+Of late Monkton's daughter had been seen about with him a good deal, and
+in the select little world of politicians' wives there had been many
+whisperings over teacups.
+
+That day, however, Monkton was lunching openly with the pair, and
+several people in the restaurant, recognising the trio, put together
+their heads and gossiped.
+
+While the two young people chattered merrily, Monkton, who had tried to
+crush down those ghosts of the past that had obsessed him while he
+walked along Whitehall, glanced across at his pretty daughter and sighed
+as he commenced his meal.  Ah! how complete was the image of his dead
+wife.  It was as though she sat there before him in those long-ago days
+of over twenty-five years ago, when she was the daughter of a country
+vicar and he was on the threshold of his career.
+
+He saw how happy Sheila was with the young man who had so recently come
+into her life.  Sometimes he had resented their acquaintance, yet to
+resent it was, he reflected, only jealousy after all.  He himself had
+but little to live for.  As a member of the Cabinet he had gained his
+goal.  He would, he knew, never fulfil the prophecy of his humble
+admirer standing in Downing Street.  He could never become Premier.
+There were abler men than he, men with greater influence with the
+nation, men who had schemed for the office for half a lifetime.  No.
+Death might come to him soon--how soon he knew not.  And then Sheila
+should marry.  Therefore, even though the wrench would be a great one,
+personally he, honest man that he was, felt that he should make a
+sacrifice, and promote a union between the pair.
+
+Sheila was his only home companion and comfort.  True, she scolded him
+severely sometimes.  Sometimes she pouted, put on airs, and betrayed
+defiance.  But do not all young girls?  If they did not they would be
+devoid of that true spirit of independence which every woman should
+possess.
+
+Again he glanced at her while she laughed happily with the young man who
+loved her, but who had never admitted it.  Then he looked across the
+room, where sat Benyon, a well-known member of the Opposition, with his
+fat, opulent wife, who had, until recently, been his housekeeper.  The
+eyes of the two men met, and the Cabinet Minister waved his hand in
+recognition, while the stout, over-dressed woman stared.
+
+Half the people in the restaurant had, by this time, recognised Reginald
+Monkton by the many photographs which appeared almost daily, for was he
+not the popular idol of his Party, and did not the _Court Circular_
+inform the nation of the frequent audiences he had of His Majesty the
+King?
+
+"Well, Austin?" asked the Minister, when the waiter had served an
+exquisitely cooked entree.  "How are things out at Hendon?"
+
+"Oh! we are all very busy, sir.  Wilcox is experimenting with his new
+airship.  At last he has had some encouragement from the Government, and
+we are all delighted.  My shops are busy.  We sent three planes to Spain
+yesterday.  King Alphonso ordered them when he was over in the early
+spring."
+
+"Austin has promised to take me up for a flight one day, dad!" exclaimed
+the girl enthusiastically.  "He wants to ask you if he may."
+
+Her father did not reply for some moments.  Then he said judiciously:
+
+"Well, dear, we must see.  Perhaps he might take you just a little way--
+once round the aerodrome--eh?"
+
+"Of course not far," said his daughter, glancing significantly at her
+lover.
+
+"There is no risk, Mr Monkton, I assure you.  Miss Sheila is very
+anxious to go up, and I shall be most delighted to take her--with your
+consent, of course," Wingate said.  "My suggestion is just a circuit or
+two around the aerodrome.  We are completing a new machine this week,
+and after I've tried her to see all is safe.  I'd like to take Sheila
+up."
+
+"We must see--we must see," replied her indulgent father, assuming a
+non-committal attitude.  He, however, knew that in all England no man
+knew more of aerial dynamics than Austin Wingate, and, further, that
+beneath his apparently careless exterior with his immaculate clothes and
+his perfectly-brushed hair was a keen and scientific mind, and that he
+was working night and day directing the young and rising firm of
+aeroplane makers at Hendon, of which he was already managing director.
+
+Sheila's meeting with him had been the outcome of one of his
+experiments.  One afternoon in the previous summer he had been driving a
+new hydroplane along the Thames, over the Henley course, when he had
+accidentally collided with a punt which Sheila, in a white cotton dress,
+was manipulating with her pole.
+
+In an instant the punt was smashed and sunk, and Miss Monkton and her
+two girl companions were flung into the water.  After a few minutes of
+excitement all three were rescued, and the young inventor, on presenting
+himself to express his deep regret, found himself face to face with
+"Monkton's daughter," as Sheila was known in Society.
+
+The girl with her two friends, after changing their clothes at the Red
+Lion, had had tea with the author of the disaster, who was unaware of
+their names, and who later on returned to London, his hydroplane being
+badly damaged by the collision.
+
+Six months went past, yet the girl's face did not fade from Austin
+Wingate's memory.  He had been a fool, he told himself, not to ascertain
+her name and address.  He had given one of the girls his card, and she
+had told him her name was Norris.  That was all he knew.  On purpose to
+ascertain who they were he had been down to Henley a fortnight after the
+accident, but as the girls had not stayed at the Red Lion, but were
+evidently living in some riverside house or bungalow, farther up the
+river, he could obtain no knowledge or trace of her.
+
+One bright Saturday afternoon in November the usual gay crowd had
+assembled at the aerodrome at Hendon to watch the aviation, a science
+not nearly so well developed in 1912 as it is to-day.  At the Wingate
+works, on the farther side of the great open grass lands, Austin was
+busy in the long shed directing the final touches to a new machine,
+which was afterwards wheeled out, and in which he made an experimental
+flight around the aerodrome, which the public, many of them seated at
+tea-tables on the lawn, watched with interest.
+
+After making several circles and performing a number of evolutions, he
+came to earth close to a row of smart motor-cars drawn up on the lawn
+reserved for subscribers, and unstrapping himself sprang gaily out.
+
+As he did so he saw, seated in the driver's seat of a fine limousine
+straight before him, a girl in motoring kit chatting with an elderly man
+who stood beside the car.
+
+The girl's eyes met his, and the recognition was instantly mutual.  She
+smiled merrily across to him, whereupon he crossed to her, just as he
+was, in his mechanic's rather greasy brown overalls, and bowing before
+her exclaimed:
+
+"How fortunate!  Fancy meeting again like this!"  Whereupon, with her
+cheeks flushed with undisguised pleasure, she shook his hand, and then
+turning to the tall elderly man explained:
+
+"This is the gentleman who smashed our punt at Henley, father!  We have
+not met since."
+
+"I fear it was very careless of me, sir," Wingate said.  "But I offer a
+thousand apologies."
+
+"The accident might have been far worse," declared the girl's father,
+smiling.  "So let it rest at that."
+
+"I had no idea that it was you in the air just now," exclaimed the girl,
+and then for ten minutes or so the trio stood chatting, during which
+time he explained that his works were on the opposite side of the
+aerodrome, after which he shook hands and left them.
+
+"Whose car is that big grey one, third in the row yonder?" he asked
+eagerly of one of the gatekeepers, a few moments later.
+
+"Oh, that, sir?  Why, that belongs to Mr Reginald Monkton, the Colonial
+Secretary.  There he is--with his daughter."
+
+So his sweet, dainty friend of the river was daughter of the popular
+Cabinet Minister!
+
+He drew a long breath and bit his lip.  Then climbing back into his
+machine, he waved father and daughter adieu and was soon skimming across
+to the row of long sheds which comprised the Wingate Aeroplane Factory.
+
+The young man was sensible enough to know that he could never aspire to
+the hand of the Cabinet Minister's daughter, yet a true and close
+friendship had quickly sprung up between her father and himself, with
+the result that Wingate was now a frequent and welcome visitor to the
+cosy old-world house in Mayfair, and as proof the well-known statesman
+had accepted Austin's invitation to lunch at the Carlton on that
+well-remembered day of the Cabinet meeting, the true importance of which
+is only known to those who were present at the deliberations in Downing
+Street that morning.
+
+Curious, indeed, were the events that were to follow, events known only
+to a few, and here chronicled for the first time.
+
+CHAPTER TWO.
+
+THE DISCOVERY IN CHESTERFIELD STREET.
+
+In the absence of her father, Sheila Monkton was compelled to entertain
+her guests at dinner alone.  There were three: Sir Pemberton Wheeler and
+his young dark-haired wife Cicely, an old schoolfellow of Sheila's, and
+Austin Wingate.
+
+They were a merry quartette as they sat in the cosy dining-room in
+Chesterfield Street, a few doors from Curzon Street, waited on by Grant,
+the white-headed, smooth-faced old butler who had been in the service of
+Monkton's father before him.
+
+The house was an old-fashioned Georgian one.  Upon the iron railings was
+a huge extinguisher, recalling the days of linkmen and coaches, while
+within was a long, rather narrow hall and a spiral staircase of stone
+worn hollow by the tread of five generations.  The rooms were not large,
+but very tastefully, even luxuriously, furnished, with many fine
+paintings, pieces of beautiful statuary, and magnificent bronzes, while
+everywhere were soft carpets upon which one's feet fell noiselessly.  In
+that house, indeed in that very room wherein the four sat laughing in
+the June twilight, the pale-pink shades of the lamps shedding a soft
+glow over the table with its flowers and silver, many of the most
+prominent British statesmen had been entertained by the Colonial
+Secretary, and many a State secret had been discussed within those four
+dark-painted walls.
+
+"The Prime Minister dined with us last Thursday," Sheila remarked to
+Cicely Wheeler.  "Lord Horsham came in later, and they had one of their
+private conferences."
+
+"Which meant that you were left to amuse yourself alone, eh?" laughed
+Sir Pemberton Wheeler, and he glanced mischievously towards Austin on
+the other side of the table.
+
+"Yes.  That is quite true."  Sheila laughed, instantly grasping his
+meaning.  "Mr Wingate did not happen to be here.  When father has a
+political dinner no ladies are invited.  Some of those dinners are
+horribly boring, I can assure you," declared the girl.
+
+"Their eternal discussion of this measure and the other measure, and--
+oh! how they all intrigue, one Party against the other!  Do you know
+that I've sat here and heard some most remarkable schemes."
+
+"Secrets, I suppose?" remarked Austin, twisting the stem of his windlass
+between his fingers.
+
+"Yes--I've heard them discuss what they call matters of policy which, to
+me, appear merely to be the most ingenious methods of gulling the
+public."
+
+"Ah! my dear Miss Monkton, few politicians are so straight and open as
+your father.  That is why the Opposition are so deadly in fear of him.
+His speech last week regarding the recent trouble in the Malay States
+was an eye-opener.  He lifted the veil from a very disconcerting state
+of affairs, much to the chagrin and annoyance of those to whose
+advantage it was to hush-up the matter."
+
+"That is what father is always saying," declared Sheila.  "He often
+sighs when going through despatches which the messengers bring, and
+exclaims aloud `Ah! if the public only knew!--if they only knew!  What
+would they think--what would they say?'"
+
+"Then something is being concealed from the nation?"  Austin remarked.
+
+"Something!" echoed the girl.  "Why, a very great deal.  Of that I am
+quite certain."
+
+"You know nothing of its nature?" asked her friend Cicely, with her
+woman's eagerness to inquire.
+
+"Of course not, dear.  Father never confides any secrets to me," she
+replied.  "He always says that women gossip too much, and that it is
+through the chattering wives of Members of the House, whom he calls the
+jays, that much mischief is done."
+
+"The jays!" laughed Sir Pemberton.  "Very good!  I suppose he has given
+them that name because of their fine feathers.  Personally I shall be
+glad to get to Dinard out of it all for a while."
+
+"We always enjoy Dinard, Sheila," declared his wife.  "You really must
+get your father to bring you to the Royal this summer.  We shall be
+there all the season.  We sent the car over a week ago."
+
+Cicely, or Lady Wheeler to give her her title, was a giddy little woman
+who, after being a confirmed flirt and known in Mayfair as one of its
+prettiest butterflies, had married a man more than double her age, for
+Wheeler was fifty, interested in spinning-mills in Yorkshire, and sat in
+Parliament for the constituency in which his mills were situated.  At
+the last moment she had jilted young Stenhouse, of the Grenadier Guards,
+for the more alluring prospect of Wheeler's title and his money.  Hence
+the _Morning Post_ had one day announced to the world that her marriage
+with the good-looking young Captain would "not take place," and a week
+later her photograph had appeared as the future Lady Wheeler.
+
+She had joined that large circle of London society who are what is known
+in their own particular jargon as "spooky."  She attended seances,
+consulted mediums, and believed in the statements of those who pretended
+to have made psychic discoveries.  Yet Sheila, who was far too
+level-headed to follow London's latest craze, was devoted to her, and
+had been ever since they studied together at that fashionable school
+near Beachy Head.
+
+"I spoke to father to-day about a little trip across to you," Sheila
+replied, "and he thinks he may be able to do it when the House is up."
+
+"That's good," declared Sir Pemberton in his plethoric voice.  "Get him
+to bring his car over too, and we'll have a tour together through
+Brittany and down to Nantes and the Touraine."
+
+"I'd love to see the old chateaux there," Sheila declared.  "There's a
+big illustrated book about them in the library--Blois, Chenonceaux,
+Chinon, Loches, and the rest."
+
+"Well, your father certainly requires a rest after all the stress of
+this session."
+
+"Certainly he does," declared Cicely.  "Get round dear old Macalister,
+the doctor, to order him a rest and suggest a motor-tour as relaxation."
+
+"Besides, it always delights the public to know that a Cabinet Minister
+has gone away on holiday.  It shows that he is overworked in the
+interests of the nation," laughed Austin, who was nothing if not
+matter-of-fact.
+
+At last, the dinner having ended, Sheila and Cicely rose and left the
+men, after which Grant sedately served them with coffee, two glasses of
+triple-sec, and cigarettes.
+
+For ten minutes or so they gossiped, after which they rejoined the
+ladies in the long, old-fashioned drawing-room upstairs.
+
+At Wheeler's suggestion Sheila went to the piano and sang one of those
+gay chansons of the Paris cafes which she had so often sung at charity
+concerts.  She had begun to learn French at eight years of age, and
+after her school at Eastbourne had been at Neuilly for three years
+before coming out.
+
+She chose "Mon p'tit Poylt," that gay song to which Lasaigues had
+written the music and which was at the moment being sung at half the
+cafe concerts in France.  Playing her own accompaniment in almost the
+professional style of the entertainer, she began to sing the merry
+tuneful song, with its catchy refrain:
+
+  "On s'aimait, on n'etait pas rosse.
+  On s'frolait gentiment l'museau;
+  On rigolait comme des gosses.
+  On s'becotait comm' des moineaux."
+
+The trio listening laughed merrily, for she played and sang with all the
+verve of a Parisian chanteuse.  Besides, both music and words were full
+of a gay abandon which was quite unexpected, and which charmed young
+Wingate, who knew that, though the Cabinet Minister held him in high
+esteem as a friend, yet to marry Sheila was entirely out of the
+question.  He realised always that he was a mere designer of aeroplanes,
+"a glorified motor-mechanic" some jealous enemies had declared him to
+be.  How could he ever aspire to the hand of "Monkton's daughter?"
+
+Level-headed and calm as he always was, he had from the first realised
+his position and retained it.  Mr Monkton had admitted him to his
+friendship, and though always extremely polite and courteous to Sheila,
+he remained just a friend of her father.
+
+At last she concluded, and, rising, made a mock bow to her three
+listeners, all of whom congratulated her, the mill-owner declaring:
+
+"You really ought to give a turn at the Palace Theatre, Sheila!  I've
+heard lots of worse songs there!"
+
+"`Tiny Tentoes, the Cabinet Minister's daughter' would certainly be a
+good draw!" declared Cicely.
+
+"Oh! well, I know you all like French songs, so I sang it.  That's all,"
+answered their sprightly young hostess.  "But look! it's past eleven,
+and father said he would be back before ten to see you before you left.
+I'll telephone to the House."
+
+And she descended to the small library on the ground floor, where she
+quickly "got on" to the House of Commons.
+
+When she re-entered the drawing-room she exclaimed:
+
+"He left the House more than an hour ago.  I wonder where he is?  He
+ought to have been back long before this."
+
+Then at her guests' request she sang another French chanson--which,
+through the half-open window, could have been heard out in Curzon
+Street--greatly to the delight of the little party.
+
+At last, just before midnight.  Cicely, pleading that they had to leave
+by the Continental mail early next morning, excused herself and her
+husband, and left in a taxi, for which Grant had whistled, after which
+Sheila and Austin found themselves alone.
+
+When two people of the opposite sex, and kindred spirits as they were,
+find themselves alone the usual thing happens.  It did in their case.
+While Sheila looked over her music, in response to Austin's request to
+sing another song while awaiting the return of her father, their hands
+touched.  He grasped hers and gazed straight into her face.
+
+In those hazel eyes he saw that love-look--that one expression which no
+woman can ever disguise, or make pretence; that look which most men
+know.  It is seldom in their lives they see it, and when once it is
+observed it is never forgotten, even though the man may live to be a
+grandfather.
+
+At that instant of the unconscious contact of the hands, so
+well-remembered afterwards by both of them, Sheila flushed, withdrew her
+hand forcibly, and rose, exclaiming with pretended resentment:
+
+"Don't, Austin--please."
+
+Meanwhile there had been what the newspapers term a "scene" in the House
+of Commons that evening.  An important debate had taken place upon the
+policy of the Imperial Government towards Canada, a policy which the
+Opposition had severely criticised in an attempt to belittle the
+splendid statesmanship of the Colonial Secretary, who, having been
+absent during greater part of the debate, entered and took his seat just
+as it was concluding.
+
+At last, before a crowded House, Reginald Monkton, who, his friends
+noticed, was looking unusually pale and worn, rose and replied in one of
+those brief, well-modulated, but caustic speeches of his in which he
+turned the arguments of the Opposition against themselves.  He heaped
+coals of fire upon their heads, and denounced them as "enemies of
+Imperialism and destroyers of Empire."  The House listened enthralled.
+
+He spoke for no more than a quarter of an hour, but it was one of the
+most brilliant oratorical efforts ever heard in the Lower Chamber, and
+when he reseated himself, amid a roar of applause from the Government
+benches, it was felt that the tide had been turned and the Opposition
+had once more been defeated.
+
+Hardly had Monkton sat down when, remembering that he had guests at
+home, he rose and walked out.
+
+He passed out into Palace Yard just before ten o'clock and turned his
+steps homeward, the night being bright and starlit and the air
+refreshing.  So he decided to walk.
+
+Half-an-hour after Cicely and her husband had left Chesterfield Street
+Sheila again rang up the House and made further inquiry, with the same
+result, namely, that the Colonial Minister had left Westminster just
+before ten o'clock.  Monkton had been seen in St Stephen's Hall
+chatting for a moment with Horace Powell, the fiery Member for East
+Islington, whom he had wished "good-night" and then left.
+
+So for still a further half-hour Sheila, though growing very uneasy, sat
+chatting with Austin, who, be it said, had made no further advances.  He
+longed to grasp her slim white hand and press it to his lips.  But he
+dared not.
+
+"I can't think where father can be!" exclaimed the girl presently,
+rising and handing her companion the glass box of cigarettes.  "Look! it
+is already one o'clock, and he promised most faithfully he would be back
+to wish the Wheelers farewell."
+
+"Oh! he may have been delayed--met somebody and gone to the club
+perhaps," Austin suggested.  "You know how terribly busy he is."
+
+"I know, of course--but he always rings me up if he is delayed, so that
+I need not sit up for him, and Grant goes to bed."
+
+"Well, I don't see any necessity for uneasiness," declared the young
+man.  "He'll be here in a moment, no doubt.  But if he is not here very
+soon I'll have to be getting along to Half Moon Street."
+
+Through the next ten minutes the eyes of both were constantly upon the
+clock until, at a quarter-past one, Wingate rose, excusing himself, and
+saying:
+
+"If I were you I shouldn't wait up any longer.  You've had a long day.
+Grant will wait up for your father."
+
+"The good old fellow is just as tired as I am--perhaps more so,"
+remarked the girl sympathetically.  And then the pair descended to the
+hall, where Sheila helped him on with his coat.
+
+"Well--good-night--and don't worry," Austin urged cheerfully as their
+hands met.  The contact sent a thrill through him.  Yes.  No woman had
+ever stirred his soul in that manner before.  He loved her--yes, loved
+her honestly, truly, devotedly, and at that instant he knew, by some
+strange intuition, that their lives were linked by some mysterious
+inexplicable bond.  He could not account for it, but it was so.  He knew
+it.
+
+By this time Grant had arrived in the hall to let out Miss Sheila's
+visitor, and indeed he had opened the door for him, when at that same
+moment a taxi, turning in from Curzon Street, slowly drew up at the kerb
+before the house.
+
+The driver alighted quickly and, crossing hurriedly to Austin, said:
+
+"I've got a gentleman inside what lives 'ere, sir.  'E ain't very well,
+I think."
+
+Startled by the news Austin and Grant rushed to the cab, and with the
+assistance of the driver succeeded in getting out the unconscious form
+of the Colonial Secretary.
+
+"I'd send the lady away, sir--if I were you," whispered the taxi-driver
+to Wingate.  "I fancy the gentleman 'as 'ad just a drop too much wine at
+dinner.  'E seems as if 'e 'as!"
+
+Amazed at such a circumstance Sheila, overhearing the man's words, stood
+horrified.  Her father was one of the most temperate of men.  Such a
+home-coming as that was astounding!  The three men carried the prostrate
+statesman inside into the small sitting-room on the right, after which
+Austin, completely upset, handed the taxi-man five shillings, and with a
+brief word of thanks dismissed him.
+
+Meanwhile Sheila had rushed into the dining-room to obtain a glass of
+water, hoping to revive her father.  Old Grant, faithful servant that he
+was, had thrown himself upon his knees by the couch whereon his master
+had been placed.
+
+He peered into his pale face, which was turned away from the silk-shaded
+electric light, and then suddenly gasped to Wingate: "Why!  It isn't Mr
+Reginald at all, sir!  He's wearing his clothes, his watch and chain--
+and everything!  But he's a stranger--it isn't Mr Reginald!  Look for
+yourself!"
+
+CHAPTER THREE.
+
+THE WHISPERED NAME.
+
+Austin Wingate approached the unconscious man, and scrutinised the
+white, drawn features closely.  When Grant had uttered those words, he
+could hardly believe his ears.  Had the shock been too much for the old
+man's reason?
+
+But as he gazed intently, the conviction grew upon him that Grant was
+right.  There was a little resemblance between the Cabinet Minister and
+the insensible man lying there.  Their figures were much the same, and
+in the half-light a mere cursory glance could not have detected them
+apart.
+
+But to those who, like Grant and Austin, knew Reginald Monkton
+intimately, there were striking points of difference at once apparent.
+
+Wingate drew a deep sigh of relief.
+
+"You are right.  Grant, it is not your master!  He looks ghastly,
+doesn't he?  The driver said that he was drunk, but I don't believe it.
+The man, whoever he is, seems to me as if he were dying."
+
+At that moment, Sheila, her cheeks pale, her hand trembling so that she
+spilled the glass of water she was carrying, came into the sitting-room.
+
+Austin rushed towards her and, taking the glass from her, pressed her
+trembling hand.  At a moment of acute tension like that, he knew she
+would not resent the action.
+
+"Sheila, for God's sake keep calm.  It is not what we thought.  The man
+we carried in here is not your father.  He is a stranger, wearing your
+father's clothes.  Look for yourself, and you will see where the
+likeness ends."
+
+"Not my father?" she repeated mechanically, and flung herself down
+beside Grant.  A moment's inspection was enough to convince her.  She
+rose from her knees.
+
+"Thank God!" she cried, fervently.  It had cut her to the heart to think
+that the father whom she so loved and revered should be brought home in
+such a condition.  She was grateful that none but those three had been
+present.
+
+But to her gratitude succeeded a sudden wave of fear, and her face went
+paler than before.
+
+"But, Austin, there must be some terrible mystery behind this.  Why is
+this man wearing father's clothes?  And why--" she broke suddenly into a
+low wail--"is father not home?"
+
+Austin could make no answer; the same thought had occurred to him.
+
+"My poor child, there is a mystery, but you must summon all your courage
+till we can discover more," he murmured soothingly.  "Now I must go and
+'phone for the doctor.  In my opinion, this man is not suffering from
+excess, as that driver led us to believe.  He appears to be in a dying
+state."
+
+When he had gone to ring up the family doctor, who lived close by in
+Curzon Street, Sheila again knelt down beside the prostrate form.
+
+Presently the man's lips began to move and faint sounds issued from
+them.  He seemed trying to utter a name, and stumbling over the first
+syllable.
+
+They strained their ears, and thought they caught the word "Moly"
+repeated three times.
+
+There was silence for a few seconds, and then the muttering grew louder
+and they thought they heard the name "Molyneux."
+
+"Oh, if only he could wake from his sleep or lethargy!"  Sheila
+exclaimed impatiently.  "If he could only throw some light upon this
+awful mystery?"
+
+He relapsed into silence again, and then presently recommenced his
+mutterings.  This time, he pronounced the syllables even less clearly
+than before.  And now they fancied the name was more like "Mulliner."
+
+Would he come back to consciousness and be able to answer questions, or
+would those be his last words on earth?  They could not tell.  His form
+had relapsed into its previous rigidity and his face had grown more
+waxen in its hue.
+
+What was the explanation of his being dressed in her father's clothes?
+Sheila was sure they were the same Reginald Monkton had won on setting
+out that evening.
+
+A sudden thought struck her.  She inserted her hand gently in his
+waistcoat pocket, and drew out a gold watch.  It was her father's; she
+had given it to him on his last birthday.  She felt in the breast pocket
+of his coat, but it was empty.  That told her little, for she did not
+know if he had taken any papers with him.
+
+She felt in his pockets one by one, but only discovered a little loose
+silver.  It was her father's habit always to carry a few banknotes in a
+leather case.  If he had done so to-night these had been abstracted.
+But if the money had been taken, why not the watch?  And then she
+recollected it was inscribed with his name.
+
+While she was pondering these disturbing queries.  Doctor Macalister
+entered the room with Austin, who had imparted to him the startling news
+in a few words.
+
+He bent over the quiet form, murmuring as he did so: "He is dressed in
+Mr Monkton's clothes, certainly.  I might have been deceived at the
+first glance myself."
+
+He unbuttoned the waistcoat and shirt, and laid his stethoscope on the
+chest of the inanimate body.
+
+"Dead!" he said briefly, when he had made his examination.  "One cannot,
+of course, at present tell the cause of death, although the appearances
+point to heart-failure."
+
+Sheila looked up at him, her lovely eyes heavy with grief and
+foreboding.
+
+"He spoke a little before you came in," she said.  "He seemed to utter
+two names, Molyneux and Mulliner.  He repeated them three times."
+
+The kindly old doctor who had brought her into the world looked at her
+with compassionate eyes.  "The part he bore in this mystery, whether he
+was a victim or accomplice, will never be revealed by him.  He must have
+been near death when he was put into that taxi.  I suppose you did not
+notice the number?"
+
+No, neither Grant nor Austin had thought of it.  They had been too much
+perturbed at the time.
+
+"Well, I have no doubt the driver can be found.  Now I must telephone
+for the police, and have the body removed."
+
+He drew young Wingate aside for a moment.  "You say you have inquired at
+the House of Commons.  Have you rung up Monkton's clubs?  He has only
+two.  No; well, better do so.  It is a forlorn hope; I knew the man so
+well.  He would never keep Sheila waiting like this if he were with
+means of communication.  There has been foul play--we can draw no other
+conclusion."
+
+It was the one Wingate had drawn himself, and he quite agreed it was a
+forlorn hope.  Still, he would make sure.  He rang up the Travellers'
+and the Carlton.  The answer was the same from both places.  Mr Monkton
+had not been at either club since the previous day.
+
+The police arrived in due course, and bore away the body of the man who
+wore the clothes of the well-known and popular Cabinet Minister.
+
+And, at their heels, came the inspector of the division, accompanied by
+Mr Smeaton, the famous detective, one of the pillars of Scotland Yard,
+and the terror of every criminal.
+
+Smeaton was a self-made man, risen from the ranks, but he had the
+manners of a gentleman and a diplomatist.  He bowed gravely to the
+pale-faced girl, who was so bravely keeping back her tears.  With Austin
+he had a slight acquaintance.
+
+"I am more than grieved to distress you at such a time.  Miss Monkton,
+but the sooner we get on the track of this mystery the better.  Will you
+tell me, as briefly as you like, and in your own time, what you know of
+your father's habits?"
+
+In tones that broke now and then from her deep emotion, Sheila imparted
+the information he asked for.  She laid especial emphasis on the fact
+that, before leaving home in the evening, he outlined to her the
+programme of his movements.  If anything happened that altered his plans
+he invariably telephoned to her, or sent a letter by special messenger.
+
+The keen-eyed detective listened attentively to her recital.
+
+"Can you recall any occasion on which he failed to notify you?" he asked
+when she had finished.
+
+"No," she answered firmly.  Then she recollected.  "Stay!  There was one
+occasion.  He was walking home from the House on a foggy night, and was
+knocked down by a taxi, and slightly injured.  They took him to a
+hospital, and I was telephoned from there, and went to him."
+
+A gleam of hope shone in Austin's eyes.
+
+"We never thought of that."
+
+The great detective shook his head.
+
+"But _we_ thought of it, Mr Wingate.  My friend here has had every
+hospital in the radius rung up.  No solution there."
+
+There was silence for a long time.  It seemed that the last hope had
+vanished.  Smeaton stood for a long time lost in thought.  Then he
+roused himself from his reverie.
+
+"It's no use blinking the fact that we are confronted with a more than
+usually difficult case," he said, at length.  "Still, it is our business
+to solve problems, and we shall put our keenest wits to work.  I wish it
+were possible, for Miss Monkton's sake, to keep it from the Press."
+
+"But would that be impossible?" cried Wingate.
+
+"I fear so.  If a little servant-maid disappears from her native
+village, the newspaper-men get hold of it in twenty-four hours.  Here,
+instead of an obscure little domestic, you have a man, popular,
+well-known to half the population of England, whose portrait has been in
+every illustrated paper in the three Kingdoms.  I fear it would be
+impossible.  But I will do my best.  The Home Secretary may give certain
+instructions in this case."
+
+Then turning to Sheila he said:
+
+"Good-night, Miss Monkton.  Rely upon it, we will leave no stone
+unturned to find your father, and bring him back to you."
+
+He was gone with those comforting words.  But with his departure, hope
+seemed to die away, and Sheila was left to confront the misery of the
+present.
+
+The faithful Grant, who had been hovering in the background, came
+forward, and spoke to her in the coaxing tone he had used when she was a
+child.
+
+"Now, Miss Sheila, you must go and rest."
+
+"Oh, no!" she cried wildly.  "What is the use of resting?  I could not
+sleep.  I can never rest until father comes back to me."  She broke into
+a low wail of despair.
+
+Grant looked at Wingate, with a glance that implored him to use his
+influence.  The faithful old man feared for her reason.
+
+"Sheila, Grant is right," said Austin gravely.  "You must rest, even if
+you cannot sleep.  You will need all your strength for to-morrow,
+perhaps for many days yet, before we get to the heart of this mystery.
+Let the servants go back to bed.  Grant and I will wait through the
+night, in case good news may come to us."
+
+There were times when, as the old butler remembered, she had been a very
+wilful Sheila, but she showed no signs of wilfulness now.  The grave
+tones and words of Austin moved her to obedience.
+
+"I will do as you tell me," she said in a hushed and broken voice.  "I
+will go and rest--not to sleep, till I have news of my darling father."
+
+Through the weary hours of the night, the two men watched and dozed by
+turns, waiting in the vain hope of word or sign of Reginald Monkton.
+
+None came, and in the early morning Sheila stole down and joined them.
+Her bearing was more composed, and she had washed away the traces of her
+tears.
+
+"I intend to be very brave," she told them.  "I have roused the maids,
+and I am going to give you breakfast directly, after your long vigil."
+
+Impulsively she stretched out a hand to each, the youthful lover and the
+aged servitor.  "You are both dear, good friends, and my father will
+thank you for your care when he comes back to me."
+
+Moved by a common impulse the two men, the young and the old, bent and
+imprinted a reverent kiss on the slender hands she extended to them.
+
+It was a moment of exquisite pathos, the fair, slim girl, resplendent
+yesterday in the full promise of her youth and beauty; to-day stricken
+with grief and consumed with the direst forebodings of the fate of a
+beloved father.
+
+CHAPTER FOUR.
+
+THE MAN WHO KNEW.
+
+Three days had gone by, and the mystery of Reginald Monkton's
+disappearance remained as insoluble as ever.  Well, it might be so,
+since there did not seem a single clue, with the exception of the name
+muttered by the dying man, which at first had sounded like Molyneux, and
+afterwards like Mulliner.  Neither Sheila nor Grant, who had listened to
+those faint sounds issuing from the dying lips, could be certain which
+of the two was correct.
+
+Wingate had seen Smeaton twice, and that astute person assured him that
+the keenest brains at Scotland Yard were working on the case.  But he
+was very reticent, and from his manner the young man was forced to draw
+the conclusion that the prospects of success were very slight.
+
+If it had been simply a case of disappearance, uncomplicated by other
+circumstances, many theories could have been formed.  There were plenty
+of instances of men whose reason had become temporarily unhinged, and
+who had lost consciousness of their own identity.
+
+Again, men have disappeared voluntarily because they have been
+threatened with exposure of some shameful secret of the past, and will
+willingly pay the penalty of separation from their own kith and kin to
+avoid it.
+
+But no such theories seemed tenable in this instance.  Monkton's life,
+in the opinion of all who knew him, had been a well-ordered and
+blameless one.  He had been a devoted husband; and he was a devoted
+father, wrapped up in his charming daughter, the sole legacy of that
+happy marriage.
+
+In the case of such a man, with so stainless a record, it was
+unthinkable that anything could leap to light from the past which could
+shame him to such an extent that he would, of his own act, abandon his
+office, and isolate himself from his child.
+
+Even granting such an hypothesis for a moment, and brushing aside all
+the evidences of his past life and all the knowledge of him gained
+through years by his relatives and intimate friends, how did such a
+theory fit in with the appearance on the scene of the stranger now dead?
+
+"You fear the worst?" queried Wingate one day, as Smeaton sat with him
+in his cosy rooms in Half Moon Street.
+
+"It is too early yet to give a decided opinion, if, in a case of such
+complexity, one could ever give a decided opinion at all," was the
+detective's answer.  "But at present things point that way.  What was
+the motive underlying the scheme?  You can give the answer quickly--that
+all inquiries as to the real man are being stifled."
+
+"In other words, that Mr Monkton has been done away with, for motives
+we do not know, by the person or persons who put the man into the taxi?"
+
+Smeaton nodded.  "That's what it seems to be at the moment, Mr Wingate.
+But we should be poor detectives if we pinned ourselves to any one
+theory, especially on such evidence--or rather want of evidence--as we
+have got at present.  Cases as mysterious as this--and there was never
+one more mysterious--have been solved by unexpected means.  If we can
+get hold of that driver who brought the dying man to Chesterfield
+Street, we may light upon something useful."
+
+"If he was an accomplice, as seems possible, he will never turn up,"
+said Wingate gloomily.
+
+"Accomplice or not, I think the reward will tempt him," replied Smeaton,
+"even if he has to make up his tale before he comes.  I expected he
+would come forward before now.  But one of two things may have happened.
+Either he may be cogitating over what he shall say when he does come,
+or he may be an ignorant sort of fellow, who hardly ever reads the
+newspapers."
+
+"Anyway," resumed Smeaton, after a thoughtful pause, "if and when he
+does turn up, we shall know, with our long experience, what sort of a
+customer he is.  You may rely upon it that if there is anything to be
+got out of him, we shall get it, whether it proves valuable or not."
+
+It was not a very cheering interview, certainly, but how could there be
+any chance of hopefulness at present?
+
+During the few days, however, the police had not been idle.  They had
+made a few discoveries, although they were of a nature to intensify
+rather than tend to a solution of the mystery.
+
+They had established one most important fact.
+
+Monkton had excused himself from dining at home on the plea that he must
+be down at the House, the inference being that he would snatch a hasty
+meal there, in the pause of his Ministerial work.
+
+Instead of that, he had dined about seven o'clock in an obscure little
+Italian restaurant in Soho.  Luigi, the proprietor, had at once
+recognised him from his portraits in the illustrated papers, and from
+having seen him at the Ritz, where he had been a waiter.
+
+He had entered the cafe a few minutes before seven, and had looked
+round, as if expecting to find somebody waiting for him.  Luigi had
+taken him the menu, and he had said he would wait a few minutes before
+giving his order, as a guest would arrive.
+
+On the stroke of seven a tall, bearded man, evidently a foreigner, who
+walked with a limp, joined him.  Questioned by Smeaton as to the
+nationality of the man, the proprietor replied that he could not be
+sure.  He would take him for a Russian.  He was quite certain that he
+was neither French nor Italian.  And he was equally certain that he was
+not a German.
+
+The new arrival joined Mr Monkton, who at once ordered the dinner.
+Neither of the men ate much, but consumed a bottle of wine between them.
+
+They talked earnestly, and in low tones, during the progress of the
+meal, which was finished in about half-an-hour.  Cigars, coffee, and
+liqueurs were then ordered, and over these they sat till half-past
+eight, conversing in the same low tones all the time.
+
+Luigi added that the Russian--if he was of that nationality, as he
+suspected--seemed to bear the chief burden of the conversation.  Mr
+Monkton played the part of listener most of the time, interjecting
+remarks now and again.
+
+Asked if he overheard any of the talk between them, he replied that he
+did not catch a syllable.  When he approached the table they remained
+silent, and did not speak again until he was well out of earshot.
+
+"And you are quite positive it was Mr Monkton?"  Smeaton had
+questioned, when Luigi had finished his recital.  It had struck him that
+Luigi might have been mistaken after all.
+
+Luigi was quite sure.  He reminded Smeaton that before taking on the
+little restaurant in Soho he had been a waiter at the Ritz, where he had
+often seen the Cabinet Minister.  It was impossible he could be
+mistaken.
+
+He added in his excellent English, for he was one of those foreigners
+who are very clever linguists.  "Besides, there is one other thing that
+proves it, even supposing I was misled by a chance likeness--though Mr
+Monkton's is not a face you would easily forget--as I helped him on with
+his light overcoat he remarked to his friend, `I must hurry on as fast
+as I can.  I am overdue at the House.'"
+
+That seemed to settle the point.  There might be a dozen men walking
+about London with sufficient superficial resemblance to deceive an
+ordinary observer, but there was no Member of the House of Commons who
+could pass for Monkton.
+
+It was evident, then, that he had gone to that little, out-of-the-way
+restaurant to keep an appointment.  The man he met was his guest, as
+Monkton paid for the dinner.  The excuse he made for not dining at home
+was a subterfuge.  The appointment was therefore one that he wished to
+conceal from his daughter, unless he did not deem it a matter of
+sufficient importance to warrant an explanation.
+
+Monkton's secretary was also interrogated by the detective.  He was a
+fat-faced, rather pompous young man, with a somewhat plausible and
+ingratiating manner.  He had been with Monkton three years.  Sheila had
+seen very little of him, but what little she had seen did not impress
+her in his favour.  And her father had owned that he liked him least of
+any one of the numerous secretaries who had served him.
+
+This young man, James Farloe by name, had very little to tell.  He was
+at the House at eight o'clock, according to Monkton's instructions, and
+expected, him at that hour.  He did not come in till after half-past,
+and he noticed that his manner was strange and abrupt, as if he had been
+disturbed by something.  At a few minutes before ten he left, presumably
+for home.  When he bade Farloe good-night he still seemed preoccupied.
+
+In these terrible days Austin Wingate's business occupied but second
+place in his thoughts.  He was prepared to devote every moment he could
+snatch to cheer and sustain the sorrowing Sheila.
+
+A week had gone by, but thanks to certain instructions given by the
+authorities, at the instance of the Prime Minister, who deplored the
+loss of his valuable colleague, the matter was being carefully
+hushed-up.
+
+Late one afternoon, while Smeaton was seated in his bare official room
+on the second floor at Scotland Yard, the window of which overlooked
+Westminster Bridge, a constable ushered in a taxi-driver, saying:
+
+"This man has come to see you, sir, regarding a fare he drove to
+Chesterfield Street the other night."
+
+"Excellent!" exclaimed Smeaton, lounging back in his chair, having been
+busy writing reports.  "Sit down.  What is your name?"
+
+"Davies, sir--George Davies," replied the man, twisting his cap
+awkwardly in his hands as he seated himself.
+
+Smeaton could not sum him up.  There was no apparent look of dishonesty
+about him, but he would not like to have said that he conveyed the idea
+of absolute honesty.  There was something a little bit foxy in his
+expression, and he was decidedly nervous.  But then Scotland Yard is an
+awe-inspiring place to the humbler classes, and nervousness is quite as
+often a symptom of innocence as of guilt.
+
+"I only 'eard about this advertisement from a pal this morning.  I never
+reads the papers," the taxi-driver said.
+
+"Well, now you have come, we want to hear all you can tell us.  That
+gentleman died, you know!"
+
+The man shifted uneasily, and then said in a deep, husky voice:
+
+"I've come 'ere, sir, to tell you the truth.  I'll tell you all I know,"
+he added, "providing I'm not going to get into any trouble."
+
+"Not if you are not an accomplice," Smeaton said, his keen eyes fixed
+upon his visitor.
+
+The man paused and then with considerable apprehension said:
+
+"Well--I don't know 'ow I can be really an accomplice.  All I know about
+it is that I was passin' into Victoria Street goin' towards the station,
+when three gentlemen standin' under a lamp just opposite the entrance to
+Dean's Yard hailed me.  I pulls up when I sees that two of 'em 'ad got
+another gentleman by the arms.  `Look 'ere, driver,' says one of 'em,
+`this friend of ours 'as 'ad a drop too much wine, and we don't want to
+go 'ome with 'im because of 'is wife.  Will you take 'im?  'E lives in
+Chesterfield Street, just off Curzon Street,' and 'e gives me the
+number."
+
+"Yes," said Smeaton anxiously.  "And what then?"
+
+"Well, sir, 'e gives me five bob and puts the gentleman into my cab, and
+I drove 'im to the address, where 'is servant took charge of 'im.  Did
+'e really die afterwards?" he asked eagerly.
+
+"Yes--unfortunately he did," was the police official's reply.  "But tell
+me, Davies.  Did you get a good look at the faces of the two men?"
+
+"Yes, sir.  They were all three under the lamp."
+
+"Do you think you could recognise both of them again--eh?"
+
+"Of course I could.  Why, one of 'em I've seen about lots o' times.
+Indeed, only yesterday, about three o'clock, while I was waitin' on the
+rank in the Strand, opposite the Savoy, I saw 'im come out with a lady,
+and drive away in a big grey car.  If I'd a known then, sir, I could
+'ave stopped 'im!"
+
+CHAPTER FIVE.
+
+CONTAINS SOME CURIOUS FACTS.
+
+At the beginning of the interview, the demeanour of the taxi-driver had
+betrayed signs of nervousness and trepidation.  He had hesitated and
+stumbled in his speech, so much so that Smeaton, the detective, was
+still in doubt as to his honesty.
+
+Smeaton, however, was a past-master in the art of dealing with a
+difficult witness.  So reassuring was his manner that at the end of five
+minutes he had succeeded in inspiring the taxi-driver with confidence.
+His nervousness and hesitation were succeeded by loquacity.
+
+Urged to give a description of the two men, he explained, with amplitude
+of detail, that the man who had come out of the Savoy was of medium
+height and clean-shaven, with angular features and piercing dark eyes.
+He was of striking appearance, the kind of man you would be sure to
+recognise anywhere.  The lady with him was smartly dressed and appeared
+to be about thirty or under.
+
+"Seems to me I've known 'im about London for years, although I can't
+remember as I ever drove 'im," he added.
+
+The other man was, Davies said, tall and bearded, and certainly a
+foreigner, although he could not pretend to fix his nationality.
+
+A tall, bearded man, and a foreigner!  Smeaton pricked up his ears.  The
+description tallied somewhat with that of the person who had dined with
+Monkton in the little restaurant in Soho.
+
+Davies was dismissed with encouraging words and a liberal _douceur_.
+Given Smeaton the semblance of a clue, and he was on the track like a
+bloodhound.
+
+Within twenty minutes of the taxi-driver's departure, he was
+interviewing one of the hall-porters at the Savoy, an imposing
+functionary, and an old friend.
+
+Smeaton had a large and extensive acquaintance among people who could be
+useful.  He knew the hall-porters of all the big hotels.  They were men
+of quick intelligence, keen powers of observation, and gathered much
+important information.  He had unravelled many a mystery with their
+assistance.
+
+The detective, standing aside in the hall, described the man as he had
+been featured by Davies.  Did the hall-porter recognise him?
+
+The answer was in the affirmative.
+
+"He's not a man you would be likely to forget, Mr Smeaton," he said.
+"He is a pretty frequent visitor here.  He lunches two or three times a
+week, and is popular with the waiters, through being pretty free with
+his tips.  Most times he comes alone.  Now and again he brings a guest,
+but nobody we know."
+
+"And his name?" questioned Smeaton eagerly.
+
+"Well, that's the funny part of it," explained the other man.  "We get
+to know the names of the habitues sooner or later, but none of us have
+ever heard his.  He never seems to meet anybody here that he knows, and
+none of the waiters have ever heard one of his guests address him by
+name.  The maitre d'hotel and I have often talked him over, and wondered
+who and what he was."
+
+Smeaton showed his disappointment.  "That is unfortunate.  Let us see if
+we can be more successful in another direction.  Yesterday afternoon,
+about three o'clock, this man, whose name we don't know, drove away from
+this place in a taxi, accompanied by a lady.  My informant tells me she
+was smartly dressed, and he puts her age at about thirty, or perhaps
+less."
+
+The hall-porter indulged in a smile of satisfaction.
+
+"I think I can help you there, Mr Smeaton.  I was passing through the
+palm-court at the time, and saw them go out together.  We all know the
+lady very well.  She is here pretty often.  Sometimes she comes with a
+big party, sometimes with a lady friend, sometimes with a gentleman.
+Her name is Saxton, and she has a flat in Hyde Park Mansions.  One of
+her friends told me she is a widow."
+
+"What sort of a person is she?  How would you class her?  She seems to
+dress well, and is, I suppose, attractive."
+
+The hall-porter mused a moment before he replied.  Like most of his
+class, he was an expert at social classification.
+
+"Not one of the `nobs,' certainly," he answered at length, with a smile.
+"Semi-fashionable, I should say; moves in society with a small `s.'
+Her friends seem of two sorts, high-class Bohemians--you know the sort I
+mean,--and rich middle-class who spend money like water."
+
+"I see," said Smeaton.  "And she lives in Hyde Park Mansions off the
+Edgware Road, or, to be more correct, Lisson Grove.  She is evidently
+not rich."
+
+They bade each other a cordial good-day, Smeaton having first expressed
+his gratitude for the information, and left in the hall-porter's
+capacious palm a more substantial proof of his satisfaction.
+
+The next thing to be done was to interview the attractive widow.  Before
+doing so, he looked in at Chesterfield Street, and, as he expected,
+found Wingate and Sheila together.
+
+He told them of the visit of Davies, and his subsequent conversation
+with the hall-porter at the Savoy.
+
+When he mentioned the name of Saxton, Sheila uttered an exclamation.
+"Why, Mr Farloe has a sister of the name of Saxton, a widow!  He
+brought her once to one of our parties, and I remember she was very
+gushing.  She begged me to go and see her at her flat, and I am pretty
+certain Hyde Park Mansions was the place she named, although I can't be
+positive."
+
+"Did you go.  Miss Monkton?"
+
+"No.  As I have told you, I never liked Mr Farloe, and I liked his
+sister less.  She was pretty, and I think men would find her attractive.
+But there seemed to me an under-current of slyness and insincerity
+about her."
+
+It was rather a weakness of Wingate's that he credited himself with
+great analytical powers, and believed he was eminently suited to
+detective work.  So he broke in:
+
+"Perhaps Miss Monkton and I could help you a bit, by keeping a watch on
+this woman.  I have time to spare, and it would take her out of
+herself."
+
+Smeaton repressed a smile.  Like most professionals, he had little faith
+in the amateur.  But it would not be polite to say so.
+
+"By all means, Mr Wingate.  We can do with assistance.  'Phone me up or
+call at Scotland Yard whenever you have anything to communicate.  Now, I
+think I will be off to Hyde Park Mansions and see what sort of a
+customer Mrs Saxton is."  A taxi bore him to his destination, and in a
+few moments he was ringing at the door of the flat.
+
+A neat maid admitted him, and in answer to his inquiries said her
+mistress was at home.
+
+"What name shall I say, please?" she asked in a hesitating voice.  He
+produced his case and handed the girl a card.
+
+"Of course, you know I am a stranger," he explained.  "Will you kindly
+take this to Mrs Saxton, and tell her that I will take up as little of
+her time as possible."
+
+After the delay of a few moments, he was shown into a pretty
+drawing-room, tastefully furnished.  The lady was sitting at a
+tea-table, and alone.
+
+"Please sit down," she said; her tones were quite affable.  She did not
+in the least appear to resent this sudden intrusion into her domestic
+life.  "Lily, bring another cup.  You will let me offer you some tea?"
+
+She was certainly a most agreeable person--on the right side of thirty,
+he judged.  Smeaton was somewhat susceptible to female influence,
+although, to do him justice, he never allowed this weakness to interfere
+with business.
+
+He explained that tea was a meal of which he never partook.  Mrs
+Saxton, it appeared, was a most hospitable person, and promptly
+suggested a whisky-and-soda.  He must take something, she protested, or
+she would feel embarrassed.
+
+The detective accepted, and felt that things had begun very smoothly.
+The velvet glove was very obvious, even if, later, he should catch a
+glimpse of the iron hand encased within.
+
+"I must apologise for intruding upon you, Mrs Saxton, in this fashion.
+But I am in want of a little information, and I believe you can furnish
+me with it, if you are disposed to."
+
+Mrs Saxton smiled at him very sweetly, and regarded him with eyes of
+mild surprise.  Very fine eyes they were, he thought.  It was a pity
+that she had taken the trouble to enhance their brilliancy by the aid of
+art.  She was quite good-looking enough to rely upon her attractions,
+without surreptitious assistance.
+
+"How very interesting," she said in a prettily modulated, but rather
+affected voice.  "I am all curiosity."
+
+She was purring perhaps a little bit too much for absolute sincerity,
+but it was pleasant to be met with such apparent cordiality.
+
+Smeaton came to the point at once.  "I am at the present moment
+considerably interested in the gentleman with whom you left the Savoy
+yesterday afternoon in a taxi-cab."
+
+There was just a moment's pause before she replied.  But there were no
+signs of confusion about her.  Her eyes never left his face, and there
+was no change in her voice when she spoke.  She was either perfectly
+straightforward, or as cool a hand as he had ever met.
+
+"You are interested in Mr Stent?  How strange!  Gentlemen of your
+profession do not generally interest themselves in other persons without
+some strong motive, I presume?"
+
+"The motive is a pretty strong one.  At present, other interests require
+that I do not divulge it," replied Smeaton gravely.  He was pleased with
+one thing, he had already got the name of the man; he preferred not to
+confess that he did not know it.  And her frank allusion to him as Mr
+Stent seemed to show that she had nothing to hide.  Unless, of course,
+it was a slip.
+
+"I know I am asking something that you may consider an impertinence," he
+went on.  "But, if you are at liberty to do so, I should like you to
+tell me all you know of this gentleman; in short, who and what he is."
+
+She laughed quite naturally.  "But I really fear I can tell you very
+little.  I suppose going away together in a taxi appears to argue a
+certain amount of intimacy.  But in this case it is not so.  I know next
+to nothing of Mr Stent.  He is not even a friend, only a man whose
+acquaintance I made in the most casual manner.  And, apart from two
+occasions about which I will tell you presently, I don't suppose I have
+been in his company a dozen times."
+
+It was a disappointment, certainly, and this time Smeaton did not
+believe she was speaking the truth.  In spite of the silvery laugh and
+the apparently frank manner.  But he must put up with what she chose to
+give him.
+
+"Do you mind telling me how you first made his acquaintance, Mrs
+Saxton?"
+
+"Not in the least," she replied graciously.  "Two years ago I was
+staying in the Hotel Royal at Dinard.  Mr Stent was there too.  He
+seemed a very reserved, silent sort of man, and kept himself very much
+aloof from the others, myself included, although, as I daresay you have
+guessed, I am of a gregarious and unconventional disposition."
+
+She gave him a flashing smile, and Smeaton bowed gallantly.  "I should
+say you were immensely popular," he observed judiciously.
+
+"Thanks for the compliment; without vanity, I think I may say most
+people take to me.  Well, one day Mr Stent and I found ourselves alone
+in the drawing-room, and the ice was broken.  After that we talked
+together a good deal, and occasionally went to the Casino, and took
+walks together.  He left before I did, and I did not meet him again till
+next year at Monte Carlo."
+
+"Did you learn anything about his private affairs, his profession or
+occupation?"
+
+"Not a word.  The conversation was always general.  He was the last man
+in the world to talk about himself.  He was at Monte Carlo about a week.
+I did not see very much of him then, as I was staying with a party in
+Mentone; he was by himself, as before."
+
+"Did he give you the impression of a man of means?"
+
+"On the whole, I should say, yes.  One night he lost a big sum in the
+Rooms, but appeared quite unconcerned.  Since then I have met him about
+a dozen times, or perhaps less, at different places, mostly restaurants.
+Yesterday he came through the palm-court, as I was sitting there after
+lunch, and we exchanged a few words."
+
+"Did you not see him at lunch; you were both there?" questioned Smeaton
+quickly.
+
+"I saw him at a table some distance from mine, but he did not see me.  I
+mentioned that I was going back to Hyde Park Mansions.  He said he was
+driving in the direction of St John's Wood, and would drop me on his
+way.  He left me at the entrance to the flats."
+
+Smeaton rose.  He knew that if he stopped there for another hour he
+would get nothing more out of her.
+
+"Thanks very much, Mrs Saxton, for what you have told me.  One last
+question, and I have done.  Do you know where he lives?"
+
+There was just a moment's hesitation.  Did she once know, and had she
+forgotten?  Or was she debating whether she would feign ignorance?  He
+fancied the latter was the correct reason.
+
+"I don't remember, if I ever knew, the exact address, but it is
+somewhere in the direction of St Albans."
+
+Smeaton bowed himself out, and meditated deeply.  "She's an artful
+customer, for all her innocent air, and knows more than she will tell,
+till she's forced," was his inward comment.  "Now for two things--one,
+to find out what there is to be found at St Albans; two, to get on the
+track of the bearded man."
+
+CHAPTER SIX.
+
+JUST TOO LATE.
+
+Mr Smeaton was not a man to waste time.  Within ten minutes of his
+arrival at Scotland Yard he had sent two sergeants of the C.I.
+Department to keep Mrs Saxton under close surveillance, and to note the
+coming and going of all visitors.  As her flat was on the ground floor,
+observation would be rendered comparatively easy.
+
+The evening's report was barren of incident.  Mrs Saxton had remained
+at home.  The only visitor had been a young man, answering to the
+description of James Farloe, her brother.  He had called about
+dinner-time, and left a couple of hours later.
+
+For the moment Smeaton did not take Farloe very seriously into his
+calculations.  Mrs Saxton would tell her brother all about his visit,
+and to interrogate him would be a waste of time.  He would tell him
+nothing more about Stent than he had already learned.
+
+He had noticed, with his trained powers of observation which took in
+every detail at a glance, that there was a telephone in a corner of the
+small hall.
+
+If her connection with the mysterious Stent were less innocent than she
+had led him to believe, she would have plenty of time to communicate
+with this gentleman by means of that useful little instrument.
+
+Later, he instructed a third skilled subordinate to proceed the next
+morning in a car to St Albans, and institute discreet inquiries on the
+way.  Afterwards, he thought of the two amateur detectives in
+Chesterfield Street, and smiled.  Sheila was a charming girl,
+pathetically beautiful in her distress, and Wingate was a pleasant young
+fellow.  So he would give them some encouragement.
+
+He wrote a charming little note, explaining what he had done with regard
+to Mrs Saxton.  He suggested they should establish their headquarters
+at a small restaurant close by, lunch and dine there as often as they
+could.  If occasion arose, they could co-operate with his own men, who
+would recognise them from his description.  He concluded his letter with
+a brief resume of his conversation with Mrs Saxton.
+
+Poor souls, he thought, nothing was likely to come out of their zeal.
+But it would please them to think they were at least doing something
+towards the unravelling of the mystery.
+
+In this supposition he was destined to be agreeably disappointed in the
+next few hours.
+
+Wingate, after reading the letter, escorted Sheila on a small shopping
+expedition in the West End.  They were going to lunch afterwards at the
+restaurant in close proximity to Hyde Park Mansions.
+
+The shopping finished, Wingate suddenly recollected he must send a wire
+to the works at Hendon, and they proceeded to the nearest post-office in
+Edgware Road.
+
+It was now a quarter to one, and they had settled to lunch at one
+o'clock, so they walked along quickly.  When within a few yards of the
+post-office, Sheila laid her hand upon his arm.
+
+"Stop a second!" she said in an excited voice.  "You see that woman
+getting out of a taxi.  It is Mrs Saxton.  Let her get in before we go
+on."
+
+He obeyed.  The elegant, fashionably-attired young woman paid the
+driver, and disappeared within the door.  The pair of amateur detectives
+followed on her heels.
+
+Sheila's quick eyes picked her out at once, although the office was full
+of people.  Mrs Saxton was already in one of the little pens, writing a
+telegram.
+
+Unobserved by the woman so busily engaged, Sheila stepped softly behind
+her, and waited till she had finished.  She had splendid eyesight, and
+she read the words distinctly.  They ran as follows:
+
+"Herbert.  Poste Restante, Brighton.  Exercise discretion.  Maude."
+
+Then she glided away, and, with Wingate, hid herself behind a group of
+people.  She had only met the woman once, but it was just possible she
+might remember her if their glances met.
+
+Mrs Saxton took the telegram to the counter, and they heard her ask how
+long it would take to get to Brighton.  Then, having received an answer
+to the query, which they could not catch, she went out.
+
+They looked at each other eagerly.  They had made a discovery, but what
+were they to do with it?
+
+"Ring up Smeaton at once, and tell him," suggested Sheila.  "He will
+know what to do."
+
+After a moment's reflection, Wingate agreed that this was the proper
+course.  While they were discussing the point, the man himself hurried
+in.  His quick eye detected them at once, and he joined them.
+
+"I've just missed Mrs Saxton--eh?" he queried.
+
+Sheila explained to him how they had arrived there by accident, and had
+seen her stepping out of the taxi.  Smeaton went on to explain.
+
+"I looked round this morning to see how my men were getting on, and
+found a taxi waiting before the door.  I had to hide when she came out,
+but one of my men heard her give the address of this office.  I picked
+up another taxi, and drove as hard as I could.  My fellow kept the other
+well in sight, but just as we were gaining on her, I was blocked, and
+lost three minutes.  She came here, of course, to send a wire.  But it
+is only a little delay.  I can get hold of that wire very shortly."
+
+"But there is no need," cried Sheila triumphantly.  "At any rate, for
+the present.  I looked over her shoulder, and read every word of it.  I
+will tell it you."
+
+She repeated the words.  He had showed obvious signs of vexation at
+having just missed the woman he was hunting, and now his brow cleared.
+
+"Very clever of you.  Miss Monkton--very clever," he said in
+appreciative tones.  "Now, who is Herbert, that's the question?"
+
+"Stent, no doubt," suggested Wingate, with a certain amount of rashness.
+
+The detective regarded him with his kindly but somewhat quizzical smile.
+"I very much doubt if it is Stent, Mr Wingate.  I sent a man down
+early this morning to St Albans, where I believe he lives.  I should
+say Herbert is another man altogether."  The young people readily
+accepted the professional's theory.  They recognised that they were only
+amateurs.
+
+There was a long pause.  They stood humbly waiting for the great man to
+speak, this man of lightning intuition and strategic resource.
+
+It seemed an interminable time to the expectant listeners before he
+again opened his lips.  Before he did speak, he pulled out his watch and
+noted the time.
+
+"This may be important, and we cannot afford to lose a moment," he said
+at length.  "How do you stand, Mr Wingate, as regards time?  Can you
+spare me the whole of the day?"
+
+"The whole of to-day, to-morrow, and the next day, if it will help,"
+cried the young man fervently.
+
+"There is a fairly fast train from Victoria in forty minutes from now.
+You have plenty of time to catch it.  I want you to go to the
+post-office in Brighton, and get hold of that telegram."
+
+"But it is addressed to the name of Herbert."
+
+"No matter," said Smeaton, a little impatiently.  "If the real Herbert
+has not been before you--and I should guess it is an unexpected
+message--they will hand it to you; they are too busy to be particular.
+If he has already been, trump up a tale that he is a friend of yours,
+and not being sure that he would be able to call himself, had asked you
+to look in for it, so as to make sure."
+
+"I see," said Wingate.  He felt an increased admiration for the
+professional detective.  He was not quite sure that he would have been
+ready with this glib explanation.
+
+"I should love to go too," said Sheila, looking wistfully at the
+ever-resourceful Smeaton, whom she now frankly accepted as the disposer
+of their destinies.
+
+"Forgive me if I oppose you this once, my dear Miss Monkton," he said in
+his kindest and most diplomatic manner.  "Two are not always company in
+detective business, unless they've been trained to work together.
+Besides, I shall want Mr Wingate to keep in close touch with me on the
+'phone, and he will have no time to look after a lady."
+
+Having settled that matter, he turned to Wingate.  "First of all, here
+are a couple of my cards; one to show the post-office if there is
+anything awkward--this for the chief constable of Brighton if you have
+need of his assistance.  I will scribble an introduction on it."  He
+suited the action to the word.  "Now, the sooner you are off the better.
+I will put Miss Monkton into a taxi.  You be off, and try to get hold
+of that wire."
+
+There was no resisting his powerful personality.  He controlled the
+situation like an autocrat.
+
+"Stay, just one thing more.  I shall be at Scotland Yard till seven, and
+at home about eight.  Here is my private 'phone number, if unseen
+developments arise."
+
+He thought of everything, he foresaw the improbable.  They were lost in
+admiration.  At the moment of departing, he rather damped their
+enthusiasm by muttering, almost to himself:
+
+"If I could put my hand on one of my own men, I wouldn't trouble you,
+but there is no time, and delay is dangerous."
+
+A hasty hand-shake to Sheila, a fond lover's look into her eyes, and
+Wingate was out of the post-office, and into a taxi, en route for
+Victoria.
+
+He thought of her all the time he was travelling to Brighton.  In these
+last few days her great sorrow had brought her very near to him.  He had
+read her disappointment when Smeaton had forbidden her to accompany him.
+But she would not resent that on him; she knew he was working in her
+interests, that his one thought was to help in solving the tragic
+mystery that was clouding her young life.
+
+The train arrived at Brighton punctual to the minute, and mindful of
+Smeaton's remark that delay was dangerous, he drove straight to the
+post-office.
+
+He was, in a certain sense, elated with the mission that had been
+entrusted him, through the mere accident of Smeaton not having had time
+to put his hand on an experienced man.  But he felt some trepidation as
+he walked through the swing-doors.  Surely people who set forth on
+detective work must have nerves of steel and foreheads of triple brass.
+
+He bought some stamps first, not because he wanted them, but in order to
+screw up his courage to sticking-point.
+
+A sharp-featured, not too amiable-looking young woman served him.  When
+he had completed his purchase, he asked in as cordial a voice as he
+could assume:
+
+"Are there any letters or telegrams for the name of Herbert?"
+
+The young woman regarded him with a suspicious glance.
+
+"Is your name Herbert, may I ask?"
+
+At that moment, he blessed Smeaton for the lie which he had made him a
+present of at starting.  He proceeded to retail it for the young woman's
+benefit.
+
+She smiled a sour smile, and he felt his face flush.  Decidedly he
+wanted more experience.
+
+"Nothing doing this time," she said insolently, in a rasping cockney
+voice.  "You'd better hurry up next time.  The real owner of the
+telegram took it away half-an-hour ago!"
+
+CHAPTER SEVEN.
+
+THE MYSTERIOUS MRS SAXTON.
+
+After Wingate's hurried departure, Smeaton put Sheila into a taxi, and
+quickly took his way back to Scotland Yard.  Here he found a note
+awaiting him from the Home Secretary, requesting him to step round to
+the Home Office.
+
+They knew each other well, these two men, and had been brought together
+several times on affairs of public importance.  Before he had thrown all
+his energies into politics Mr Carlingford had been one of the most
+successful barristers of the day.  His intellect was of the keen and
+subtle order.
+
+He was, of course, profoundly interested in the mysterious disappearance
+of his colleague, the Colonial Secretary, and had sent for the detective
+to talk over the matter.
+
+"Sit down, Smeaton.  Have you any news?  I know you are not a man to let
+the grass grow under your feet."
+
+Smeaton explained the situation as it stood at present.
+
+"We have partly identified one, and in my opinion the more important, of
+the two men who put him in the taxi.  His name is given to me as Stent,
+and he is supposed to have a house somewhere in the neighbourhood of St
+Albans.  One of my best sergeants is down there to-day, making
+inquiries.  I fancy we are also on the track of the second man."
+
+He added that it was to Farloe's sister, Mrs Saxton, that he was
+indebted for the somewhat scanty information he possessed.
+
+"I met that lady last winter at Mentone," remarked the Home Secretary.
+"She was an attractive young woman, with ingratiating manners.  I
+remember she introduced herself to me, telling me that her brother was
+Monkton's secretary.  My impression at the time, although I don't know
+that I had any particular evidence to go on, was that there was just a
+little touch of the adventuress about her."
+
+"Precisely my impression," agreed the man from "over the way."
+
+"I never took to that fellow, Farloe, either," continued the statesman.
+"I don't think Monkton was particularly attached to him, although he
+admitted he was the best secretary he ever had.  I always thought there
+was something shifty and underhand about him."
+
+They talked for a few moments longer, exchanging probable and possible
+theories, and then Smeaton rose to take his leave.
+
+"Well, Mr Carlingford, thanks to your kind help we have been able to
+keep it out of the Press so far.  I hope our inquiries will soon bear
+some fruit," he said, and then left the room.
+
+Sheila had gone home feeling very sad and lonely.  All her plans for the
+day had been upset by Wingate's sudden journey to Brighton.
+
+She had looked forward to spending some hours in the society of her
+lover.  The excitement of the detective business in which they proposed
+to engage for the rest of the day would have taken her out of herself,
+and kept alive the courage which flagged sorely now and again, as she
+confronted the apparently insoluble problem of her beloved father's
+disappearance.
+
+Her luncheon finished, she went into her own dainty little sitting-room
+and tried to read.  But she could not focus her attention.  Her thoughts
+strayed away from the printed page, and at last she flung down the book
+impatiently.
+
+"I wish that I had insisted on going down to Brighton with Austin," she
+said to herself.  "I think I must get out.  I shall go mad if I stop
+within these four walls."
+
+As she was making up her mind, the door opened, and old Grant entered.
+
+"A lady would like to see you.  Miss," he said.  "She says her name is
+Saxton and that you know her, as she is Mr Farloe's sister.  She says
+she has been here once, but I don't seem to remember her."
+
+Sheila was immediately interested.  Their acquaintance was of the
+slightest.  She recalled the incident at the post-office, and wondered
+what was the object of the visit.
+
+"Yes, she came once to a big party.  Grant.  You have shown her into the
+drawing-room, I suppose?  I will see her."
+
+She went at once to the drawing-room.  Mrs Saxton rose as she entered,
+and advanced towards her with outstretched hand, her pretty, rather hard
+features subdued to an expression of deep sympathy.
+
+"My dear Miss Monkton, I do hope you will not regard my visit as an
+intrusion," she exclaimed fussily.  "But, owing to my brother's
+connection with your family, I was bound to know something of what has
+happened.  And I feel so deeply for you."
+
+Sheila replied with some conventional phrase, but her manner was
+constrained and cold.  Mrs Saxton was acting, no doubt to the best of
+her capacity, but there was an absence of sincerity in voice and glance.
+
+She had come, not out of sympathy, but for her own ends.  Sheila
+remembered what Smeaton had said, namely, that she knew a good deal more
+than she chose to tell.  She also remembered the telegram which had been
+despatched a few hours ago.  Was it possible Mrs Saxton had caught
+sight of her at the post-office in Edgware Road after all, and had come
+with the intention of pumping her?
+
+Whatever the motives might be, Sheila made up her mind to one thing--
+that she would say as little as possible, and ask questions rather than
+answer them.
+
+"What has Mr Farloe told you?"
+
+"Oh, as little as he possibly could.  But although it has been very
+cleverly kept from the Press, rumours are flying about at the clubs, in
+the House of Commons, everywhere.  Your father has not been seen for
+several days, and he is much too important a man not to be missed."
+
+Sheila made no answer.  She was resolved to take a very passive _role_
+in this interview which had been thrust upon her.  She looked steadily
+at Mrs Saxton, who bore the scrutiny of those candid young eyes with
+absolute composure, and waited for her to resume the conversation.
+
+"A rather strange thing happened the other day," went on her visitor,
+after a somewhat lengthy pause.  "I had a visit from a Scotland Yard
+official, of the name of Smeaton.  He told me he was very much
+interested in a Mr Stent, whose acquaintance I happened to make abroad
+a couple of years ago.  I wonder if this Mr Stent happens to be a
+friend of yours, or your father's?"  This time Sheila felt she could
+make a direct answer without committing herself.  "I certainly do not
+know the man myself.  For my father I cannot, of course, speak
+positively.  In his position he must have known heaps of people, more or
+less intimately.  But, as I have never seen him in this house, he could
+not have been a friend."
+
+Mrs Saxton spoke again in her well-bred, but somewhat artificial voice:
+
+"I hope you will excuse me for having put the question.  But it struck
+me after he had left that his visit might have been connected with the
+sad events that have happened here, and that he believed Mr Stent to
+have been mixed up with them."
+
+"Were you able to give him any information?" asked Sheila quickly.  She
+thought it was her turn to question now.
+
+"Nothing, I am afraid, of any value.  I had simply met him abroad at an
+hotel, in the first place, and came across him about a dozen times
+afterwards.  You know what a lot of people one picks up in that casual
+sort of way, people you know absolutely nothing about."
+
+Sheila agreed that this was a common experience, and after the
+interchange of a few commonplaces, Mrs Saxton took leave.  She renewed
+her expressions of sympathy, and begged Miss Monkton to make use of her
+in any way, if she thought she could render assistance.
+
+What had been the motive of her visit?  To reiterate the slenderness of
+her knowledge of the man Stent, so that the fact would be communicated
+to Smeaton?  Or had she hoped to find an artless and impressionable
+girl, who would confide to her all that had been done, up to the
+present, to unravel the mystery of Monkton's disappearance?
+
+If so, she had signally failed.  She had gone away, having learned
+nothing.  And Sheila had put no questions herself, although she was
+burning to ask her: "Who is that man at Brighton to whom you sent the
+telegram of warning?"
+
+It had been a day of surprises, and events proceeded very rapidly,
+mostly in the direction of disappointments.
+
+In the first place, Smeaton was rung up from Brighton by Wingate, who
+reported the failure of his attempt to get hold of the telegram, and
+asked for further instructions.
+
+The detective mused a few moments before replying.  He placed little or
+no reliance on the efforts of amateurs, however full of zeal.  Still,
+the young man was there, and he might as well make use of him.
+
+"Would it be inconveniencing you to spend a few more hours down there?"
+he asked at length over the wire from his room at Scotland Yard.
+
+The reply was what might be expected.  Wingate would be only too happy
+to place himself entirely at Smeaton's disposal.
+
+"Thanks.  In that case, I would ask you to keep a watch on the
+post-office for as long as you think worth while.  This fellow will be
+pretty certain to call again in an hour or two for another wire.  You
+may depend their correspondence has not finished with that first
+telegram."
+
+So that was settled; it was a toss-up whether or not anything would
+result from Wingate's observations.
+
+A little later one of the two men who were watching Hyde Park Mansions
+reported that Mrs Saxton had driven to Chesterfield Street, and
+remained in Monkton's house for some twenty minutes.
+
+Smeaton at once rang up Sheila Monkton, and obtained particulars of the
+brief interview, which confirmed his opinion that Farloe's attractive
+sister was engaged in some deep game.
+
+This opinion was further corroborated by the arrival of the detective he
+had sent down to St Albans at an early hour that morning.
+
+This man had scoured the neighbourhood on his motor-cycle within a
+radius of twelve miles from the city of St Albans.  Nobody of the name
+of Stent was known, and so far as his information went, which he had
+picked up at various shops and local inns, nobody of that name had ever
+been a resident, at any rate within the last four or five or six years.
+
+Smeaton cursed Mrs Saxton heartily.  A really innocent woman might have
+made a mistake.  But he was sure in his own mind that this
+innocent-looking young person with the charming manners and the
+well-bred voice had deliberately put him on a wrong scent.
+
+And for what motive?  Perhaps in order to gain time.  Well, he had lost
+a few hours, but he intended to run Mr Stent to earth yet, without her
+assistance.
+
+CHAPTER EIGHT.
+
+THE MAN FROM BOUNDARY ROAD.
+
+Austin Wingate's feelings as he left the post-office in Brighton can
+easily be imagined.  He had failed ignominiously in his mission, and the
+sarcastic young woman who had spoken so insolently to him was laughing
+at his discomfiture.
+
+It was some moments before he could sufficiently recover his composure
+to go to the nearest telephone--he did not dare to re-enter the
+post-office so soon--and communicate with Smeaton.
+
+He was fortified by the detective's request to remain at his post for
+some time longer, in the hope of turning a failure into something of a
+partial success.  He lit a big cigar and prepared for a long vigil.
+
+He began to think there were certain discomforts attached to detective
+work.  He found himself commiserating the two unfortunate creatures who
+had been appointed to keep watch at Hyde Park Mansions.
+
+He was better off than they in one important particular.  They only
+worked for pay, not, probably, of a very munificent description.  If he
+succeeded, he would not only earn the praises of Smeaton, but he would
+be rewarded with the tender light of gratitude in the beautiful eyes of
+his beloved Sheila.
+
+So he kept resolutely at his post, lounging up and down the street, with
+his glance ever alert for any likely stranger who should come along.
+
+An hour passed, and then the minutes went very slowly.  He kept looking
+at his watch.  Smeaton was sure the strange man would come back for a
+further communication.  Putting himself in the man's place, he reasoned
+that he had wired a reply to Mrs Saxton, and that he would allow
+himself a certain time for his wire to reach London, and the return wire
+to get to Brighton.
+
+Calculating on this basis--and he felt rather proud of the process--
+Austin reckoned that the man would be back in a couple of hours from
+when he left the post-office.  The insolent young woman had told him
+that the wire had been fetched away half-an-hour before Wingate's
+arrival.
+
+If this reasoning was correct, the man he was in search of would make
+his appearance in about another ten minutes from the last time Austin
+had looked at his watch.
+
+He felt his nerves quivering as the moment drew near and then passed.
+The street was very busy, many people entering and leaving the
+post-office.
+
+Another ten minutes had elapsed, and then a tall, bearded man came
+along.  There was something peculiar in his gait: he seemed to walk
+stiffly with one leg.
+
+He proceeded slowly in the direction of the post-office, and entered the
+swing-doors.  A chill came over the ardent Wingate as he recognised that
+the man might be merely going in to buy stamps, or send a wire--not to
+receive one.
+
+He stole across from the opposite side of the street, where he had been
+marching up and down for such an interminable time, and peered through
+the glass door.
+
+A thrill of exultation swept through him as he saw the young woman hand
+the stranger a telegram, which he opened, read rapidly, and then thrust
+in his breast pocket.  Wingate at once darted back to his previous post.
+
+At a respectful distance he followed the stranger with the peculiar
+limping walk.  They came on to the sea front, and his quarry finally
+disappeared into that well-known hostelry, "The Old Ship."
+
+It was now much more than an even chance, taking all the circumstances
+into consideration, that this was the man who was in communication with
+Mrs Saxton, and that the telegram he had seen him read was from her.
+
+The man, further, answered to the description given by Davies of one of
+the two men who had hailed his taxi at Dean's Yard.  The taxi-driver had
+said nothing about the peculiarity in his walk, which had impressed
+Wingate at once, probably for the obvious reason that Davies had not had
+an opportunity of observing it.  He had only seen him for a couple of
+minutes, during which time he was occupied in taking instructions for
+the disposal of his fare.
+
+"The Old Ship" had been a favourite resort of Wingate's for some years.
+In fact, until within the last few months, when his business occupations
+had permitted less leisure, there was hardly a week in which he had not
+motored down there.
+
+The manager he knew well, also the head-waiter, and two or three of his
+subordinates.  If the man he was tracking was staying there, it would be
+the easiest thing in the world to make a few judicious inquiries ere he
+again 'phoned Smeaton.  The first person he met, as he stepped into the
+hall, was Bayfield, the portly and rubicund head-waiter himself.
+
+"Good-day, Mr Wingate.  Very pleased to see you, sir.  We were saying
+only the other day that you had quite deserted us."
+
+"Been awfully busy, Bayfield; couldn't get away.  But it was such a
+lovely day that I made up my mind I would rush down for a breath of
+fresh air."
+
+"Quite right, sir," cried the cheerful Bayfield, in an approving voice.
+"It will do you good.  All work and no play--you know the old proverb,
+sir--eh?  You are staying the night, I hope?"
+
+Wingate hesitated.  "I didn't intend to when I started from town.
+Anyway, I will have dinner, and make plans afterwards.  Have you many
+people stopping here?"
+
+"Never knew the house so empty, although, of course, we don't expect to
+have many this time of year.  A lot of people come in to the _table
+d'hote_, but at the moment, in the house itself, we've only an elderly
+couple, a few stray people, and a foreign gentleman, who has been a
+visitor, on and off, for the last few months."
+
+It was a fine opportunity to engage Bayfield in conversation upon the
+subject of the "foreign" gentleman, and pick up what he could.  Bayfield
+was a chatty, old-fashioned creature nearly seventy, and could be
+trusted not to exhibit undue reticence when unfolding himself to a
+customer whom he had known for some years.
+
+But Wingate made up his mind not to press matters too much.  He would
+prospect a little on his own account first, before he availed himself of
+the head-waiter's loquacity.
+
+A minute later he entered the smoking-room, lit another cigar, and
+prepared to cogitate over matters.  At the moment of his entrance there
+was nobody else in the apartment.  A few seconds later the bearded
+stranger came in, rang the bell, ordered something, and seated himself
+before a small writing-table in the corner of the room.  Then he pulled
+from his breast pocket a bundle of papers.
+
+He read through some of them, various letters and memoranda they seemed
+to be, slowly and carefully, and laid them aside after perusal, making
+notes meanwhile.
+
+Then, almost, but not quite, at the end of the packet, came the telegram
+which he had received at the post-office.  He placed this on the top of
+the little pile, and went on with what remained.
+
+It was a tantalising moment for Austin.  There was the telegram within
+six feet of him.  Wild thoughts coursed through his brain.  An idea
+occurred to him.  He stumped his cigar upon the ash-tray, till it failed
+to emit the feeblest glow.  He had already observed that, through
+carelessness, nearly every match-box in the room was empty.
+
+Noiselessly he stole across the few feet of space that divided him from
+the stranger, and stood on his right hand.  Another document had been
+laid upon the pile, and only the corner of the telegram was peeping
+forth.  A second or two sooner, and he could have read it.  He was full
+of chagrin.
+
+"Excuse me, sir, but can you oblige me with a match?  They don't seem to
+provide them in this establishment."
+
+The visitor turned, and for a moment regarded him keenly.  What he saw
+seemed to impress him favourably: an open, honest English face,
+perfectly candid eyes that looked into his own, without a suspicion of
+guile in their direct gaze.
+
+"With pleasure, sir.  They seem very remiss."
+
+He spoke with a slight foreign accent, but his tones were cultivated,
+and his manner was courtesy itself.  He held out his match-box.  Wingate
+fancied his glance travelled uneasily to the pile of papers upon the
+table.
+
+The young man turned half round to strike the match.  There was hardly
+anything of the telegram to read, so obscured was it by the letter lying
+on the top of it, in which he was not interested.
+
+But what he could see, with his abnormally quick vision, was sufficient.
+The signature showed distinctly, the same that had appeared on the
+previous wire--the name MAUDE!
+
+He bowed and withdrew.  The foreigner finished his examination of the
+pile of correspondence he had produced, gathered it up, and transferred
+it to his breast pocket.  Then, with a courteous smile to Wingate, he
+quitted the room.
+
+The young man breathed a sigh of relief.  He was both astonished and
+delighted at his own resource, at the extent of his discovery.  The
+contents of the telegram could be obtained by Smeaton at his leisure.
+
+What he, Austin Wingate, amateur detective, had proved was that the
+mysterious man who was staying there was the same person who was in
+communication with Maude, otherwise Mrs Saxton, of Hyde Park Mansions.
+
+He had done good spade work.  Of that he was sure.  It was now half-past
+seven.  Plenty of time to 'phone Smeaton, tell him what he had
+discovered, and inquire how he was to proceed.
+
+The detective decided on his campaign without a moment's hesitation.
+
+"Well done, Mr Wingate, an excellent result," he said over the wire.
+"Stay the night and keep the fellow under observation.  We must have him
+identified.  I will send Davies down by the first train to-morrow
+morning.  I will 'phone you full instructions, say, in a couple of
+hours.  Meet him at the station in the morning, smuggle him into the
+hotel as quickly as you can; I leave the details to you.  Let him see
+our foreign friend, and say if he is the man we think him to be."  He
+paused a moment, then added:
+
+"You say the manager and Bayfield are well-known to you.  They are also
+old friends of mine.  I have unearthed more than one mystery with their
+help.  Mention my name, show them my card, if you think it will ease
+matters.  They will give you any assistance you want.  Once again,
+bravo, and well-done.  I'll ring you up as soon as I have fixed Davies."
+
+Wingate felt he was walking on air as he returned to the hotel.  With
+his new-born cunning he had not 'phoned from "The Old Ship," but from
+the post-office.
+
+The dining-room was not at all full.  The elderly couple and the
+foreigner sat at their respective tables.  A few other people were
+dotted about.
+
+At the end of an hour Wingate had the room to himself, with the
+head-waiter, his old friend, hovering around, ready for a prolonged
+chat.
+
+"I'm rather interested in that foreign chap, Bayfield," he said
+carelessly.  "What do you know about him?  Is he a quiet sort of
+Anarchist, or what?"
+
+Bayfield was quite ready to communicate all he knew, in confidential
+whispers, for Wingate was always very popular with his inferiors.  He
+gave himself no airs, and he was more than liberal with tips.
+
+"He's a bit of a mystery, sir, but he's a very quiet sort of a
+gentleman.  He began coming here about three months ago.  I should say,
+since he started, he has stayed two or three days out of every week.  He
+has heaps of letters.  Sometimes he goes off at a minute's notice, and
+then we have to send his letters after him."
+
+"Where does he live, and what's his name?"
+
+"He lives in the Boundary Road, St John's Wood, and his name is
+Bolinski; a Russian, I suppose.  All their names seem to end in `ski' or
+`off.'"
+
+So his name was Bolinski, and he lived in Boundary Road, St John's
+Wood.  Here was valuable information for Smeaton.  Wingate chatted a
+little longer with Bayfield, and then went for a walk along the front,
+returning in time to receive the detective's message 'phoned to the
+hotel.
+
+At this juncture he thought it was wise policy to take both the manager
+and Bayfield into his confidence.  He showed them Smeaton's card, and
+explained that for reasons he was not at liberty to disclose, he wanted
+to identify Bolinski.  A man was coming down for that purpose by an
+early train to-morrow morning, and he wanted to smuggle him into the
+hotel as early as possible.
+
+The manager smiled.  "That's all right, Mr Wingate.  Inspector Smeaton
+is an old friend of mine, and I have helped him a bit here, and more in
+London.  Our friend breakfasts on the stroke of half-past nine.  Get
+your man in here a little before nine, and Bayfield will take him in
+charge, and give him a glimpse of the distinguished foreigner."
+
+Next morning the taxi-driver Davies arrived, attired in a brand new
+suit, and looking eminently respectable in mufti.
+
+Wingate met him at the station, piloted him to "The Old Ship," and
+handed him over to the careful guardianship of the astute Bayfield.
+
+At nine-thirty, Bolinski, fresh and smart, came down to his breakfast,
+seating himself at his usual table.  Davies crept in, and took a good
+look at him, unobserved by the object of his scrutiny.
+
+Wingate was waiting in the hall, with the manager.  The face of Davies
+was purple with emotion and the pleasurable anticipation of further and
+substantial reward.
+
+"That's the man, right enough, sir!" he said in an excited whisper.
+"I'd swear to him out of a thousand if they was all standin' before me."
+
+CHAPTER NINE.
+
+RUMOURS IN LONDON.
+
+Some few days had elapsed, and the Monkton mystery remained in the same
+deep obscurity.  The inquest had been resumed, and an "open verdict" was
+returned by the jury.  But nothing as yet had been published in the
+Press.  All that the public knew was by an obscure paragraph which
+stated that the Colonial Secretary had been suffering from ill-health,
+and, having been ordered complete rest by his doctor, he had gone
+abroad.
+
+The body of the dead man had not been identified.  There was nothing to
+prove conclusively the cause of death, so the matter was left in the
+hands of the police for investigation.
+
+Some little progress had been made in the direction of Bolinski.  Luigi,
+the proprietor of the restaurant in Soho, had been taken to the Boundary
+Road in St John's Wood, and had waited for the mysterious foreigner to
+come out of the house.
+
+When he appeared, limping along with that peculiar gait of his, Luigi
+unhesitatingly declared that he was the man who had dined on the
+eventful night with the missing Mr Monkton.  He could have identified
+him anyway by his features and figure, but the dragging walk left no
+room for doubt.  Luigi, like Wingate, had noticed it at once.
+
+A few facts about him were established.  He was either a bachelor or a
+widower, as the only other occupants of the house were a married couple,
+also foreigners, who looked after the establishment.  Inquiries in the
+neighbourhood proved that he spent about half the week there, going up
+to business every morning.
+
+They tracked him to his office in the city, a couple of rooms on the
+second floor of a big block of recently erected buildings in the
+vicinity of Liverpool Street Station.  His staff was small, consisting
+of a young clerk of about eighteen, and a woman of about thirty-five, by
+her appearance a Jewess of foreign, probably Polish, nationality.
+
+The name Bolinski was inscribed in large latters on a plate outside the
+door.  No business or profession was stated.  Patient investigation
+revealed the fact that he was supposed to be a financial agent, was
+connected with certain small, but more or less profitable, enterprises
+abroad, and had a banking account at the head office of one of the
+biggest banks in England.
+
+Such facts as these rather deepened the mystery.  What circumstances had
+produced an even momentary association between Reginald Monkton, a
+statesman of more than ordinary eminence, a man of considerable fortune,
+with a financier of fifth or sixth rate standing, who lived in a small
+house in St John's Wood.
+
+While the Russian was being subjected to these investigations, the other
+man.  Stent, had suddenly absented himself from the Savoy.  This was
+annoying, as Smeaton had sworn to hunt him to his lair, with the aid of
+his old ally, the hall-porter.
+
+Mrs Saxton was still being kept under strict surveillance, but she,
+too, was lying very low.  She left the flat very seldom, and her
+movements had in them nothing suspicious.  Her brother, James Farloe,
+went there every day, but she did not appear to be in further
+communication with Bolinski.  Nothing had come to light since those two
+telegrams despatched to Brighton.
+
+In the meantime rumour was growing in every direction, more especially
+in political and club circles.  What had become of Monkton?  Why was he
+no longer in his place in the House of Commons?  Why had his name
+disappeared from the Parliamentary reports?  Was he really ill and
+abroad?
+
+At no place was the subject discussed with greater interest than at that
+celebrated resort of intellectual Bohemianism, the Savage Club.  Here
+were gathered together the brightest spirits of the stage, the Bar, and
+modern journalism with its insatiable appetite for sensational news and
+thrilling headlines.
+
+Prominent amongst the journalistic section was Roderick Varney, a
+brilliant young man of twenty-eight, of whom his friends predicted great
+things.  After a most successful career at Oxford, he had entered the
+Middle Temple, and in due course been called to the Bar.
+
+Having no connection among solicitors, briefs did not flow in, and he
+turned his attention to the Press.  Here he speedily found his true
+vocation.  He was now on the staff of a powerful syndicate which
+controlled an important group of daily and weekly newspapers.
+
+The bent of his mind lay in the direction of criminal investigation.  On
+behalf of one of the syndicated newspapers, he had helped to solve a
+mystery which had puzzled the trained detectives of Scotland Yard.
+
+Thinking over the Monkton matter, he had come to the conclusion that
+there might be a great "scoop" in it.
+
+Unfortunately, he knew so little of the actual facts; there were such
+slender premises to start from.  Rumours, more or less exaggerated, were
+not of much use to him, and those were all that he had at his disposal.
+
+And then, as he sat in the smoking-room of the Savage, overlooking the
+Thames, a big idea occurred to him.  He would go to headquarters at
+once, to Chesterfield Street, and ask for Miss Monkton.  He would send
+in a brief note first, explaining his errand.
+
+He had dined, and it was getting on for half-past eight.  No time to
+lose.  In under ten minutes from the time the idea had struck him, he
+was at the door of Reginald Monkton's house.
+
+Grant showed him into the library, and took in the note.  Sheila and
+Wingate had dined together, and were sitting in the drawing-room.
+
+The sad events had drawn them so closely together that they might now be
+said to be acknowledged lovers.  Austin had never made any pretence of
+his regard for her, and Sheila was no longer reserved or elusive.
+
+She handed him the letter, and Wingate read it carefully.
+
+"I know the man a little," he said, when he had gathered the contents.
+"I belong to the Savage, and go there occasionally.  He has the
+reputation of a brilliant journalist, and has written one or two quite
+good books on the subject of criminology.  Suppose we have him in, and
+see what he wants.  Smeaton is a first-class man, no doubt, but this
+chap unearthed the Balham mystery that baffled Scotland Yard; all London
+rang with it, at the time.  A fresh brain might help us."
+
+Sheila yielded to her lover's suggestion.  Privately, she thought
+etiquette demanded that they should first ring up to consult Smeaton as
+to whether the newcomer should be shown the door or not.  But Wingate
+had been so good, so tender to her in her hour of trial, that she did
+not like to oppose him.
+
+Varney came in and at once made a good impression upon her.  He was
+quite a gentleman; his voice and manner showed unmistakable signs of
+cultivation.
+
+He plunged at once into the matter without insincere apologies.
+
+Plenty of rumours were flying about, he explained, many of them, no
+doubt, quite baseless; most, or all of them, exaggerated.  He had a
+faculty for this kind of investigation, and had been successful in a
+very complicated and baffling case at Balham.  If they would give him
+first-hand information he would be pleased to place his services at
+their disposal.
+
+"You know, of course, that nothing will be allowed to appear in the
+Press," said Wingate, when the young journalist had finished.  "The Home
+Secretary has given instructions to that effect."
+
+Varney admitted he was under the impression something of the kind had
+occurred.  Otherwise his chief would have sent for him at once.
+
+"So you see I am not out for immediate kudos," he said, with a very
+frank smile.  "Under different circumstances I daresay I should act very
+much like any other enterprising journalist anxious to establish a
+reputation."
+
+There was a moment's pause.  Wingate looked at Sheila, and she returned
+his glance of inquiry.  Should they trust this singular young man, who
+spoke with such apparent frankness?  Or should they refer him to the
+detective-inspector who had the case in hand?
+
+Varney perceived their natural hesitation, and hastened to turn it in
+his favour.
+
+"Let us make a bargain," he said, in a voice of real heartiness.
+"Forget for the moment that I am a predatory journalist, on the prowl
+for sensational news.  Just consider me as a man who has a bent for this
+particular form of investigation, and takes a delight in it.  Treat me
+as a friend, and I will prove myself worthy of your confidence, and help
+you as far as my brains and resources will permit."
+
+It was Sheila who spoke first, with her woman's impulse.  "Austin," she
+said, "I think we may trust Mr Varney."
+
+The journalist bowed.  "Many thanks.  Miss Monkton," He smiled a little
+as he added: "Ring up my old friend Smeaton, who, I know, has charge of
+the case, and get his permission if you like.  You know, that was your
+first thought--was it not?"
+
+Sheila blushed.  "Yes, you are quite right, it was.  How did you guess?"
+
+"Very easily.  By putting myself in your place, and imagining how I
+should think and act under similar circumstances."
+
+Then Wingate followed his sweetheart's lead.
+
+"Well, Mr Varney, I agree with Miss Monkton.  We accept you as an ally,
+without reference to Smeaton.  What do you want us to do?"
+
+"I want you to tell me, as fully as you can, everything that has
+happened, in the minutest detail, from the night of Mr Monkton's
+strange disappearance until the present moment."
+
+It was a long recital.  Varney listened attentively and made notes from
+time to time, as some point struck him.  But he did not make many.  He
+seemed to possess a marvellous and retentive memory.
+
+The narrative finished, Varney rose.
+
+"Thanks, I have got it all clear.  Now, all this will want thinking
+over, and it will take me some hours.  As soon as I have established
+something to work upon I will communicate with you.  We don't often see
+you at the Savage, Mr Wingate, or we might meet there."
+
+"I have not much leisure," was Wingate's reply, "and all I have at my
+disposal is at Miss Monkton's service for the present."
+
+"I quite understand."  He could not fail to read in the slight glow on
+Sheila's cheek that the pair were lovers.  "Well, good-night.  Many
+thanks for the cordial reception you have given me.  I shall do my best.
+I shall hope to earn the compliments of my old friend Smeaton once
+again."
+
+It was close upon ten o'clock when he left the house in Chesterfield
+Street.  Though it was summer time, the night was a dark one.  There was
+no moon, and heavy clouds obscured the stars.
+
+A man stepped out from under the street lamp nearly opposite, and walked
+quickly in the direction of Curzon Street.  Varney had seen him many
+times in the House of Commons, and recognised him at once.  It was James
+Farloe, the secretary.
+
+Varney followed him up Curzon Street, through the narrow passage that
+runs past Lansdowne House.  For a moment Farloe halted, as if undecided
+which direction to take.  Then, his mind made up, he turned northward,
+and made his way into Oxford Street.
+
+He walked along there for a little while, then crossed over to the north
+side, and, turning up one of the numerous side streets, took a devious
+route into Edgware Road.
+
+It immediately struck Varney that he was going to visit Mrs Saxton at
+Hyde Park Mansions.  In that case, he would have had his hunt for
+nothing.  Smeaton had his men stationed there, and he was not wanted.
+
+However, he would make sure, before he gave up the chase, and he was
+afterwards glad that he had not jumped too readily at conclusions.
+
+It soon became apparent that this was not Farloe's destination, for he
+passed Chapel Street, and continued straight along the Edgware Road till
+he came to where it joins on to Maida Vale.  Here he turned to the
+right, and was immediately in the St John's Wood district.
+
+Varney was now pretty certain in his own mind as to the secretary's
+goal, and a few moments more confirmed his conjectures.  He halted at a
+house in the Boundary Road, and knocked gently at the door.  It was
+opened by a tall man, whom Varney at once recognised as Bolinski, from
+the description given of him by Wingate.
+
+He waited about for an hour, but Farloe did not come out.  Theirs was
+evidently a long conference.  The secretary was apparently the channel
+of communication between the Russian and Mrs Saxton.  This accounted
+for the sudden cessation of telegrams.  The astute lady had found out
+she was being watched.
+
+Varney walked back to Baker Street Station, where he took a ticket for
+Charing Cross, the nearest halting-place for the Savage Club in the
+Adelphi.
+
+"I wonder if Smeaton has left Farloe altogether out of his
+calculations," was his inward comment on the night's proceedings.  "But
+it can't be; he is too old a bird for that.  Well, it's evident he is in
+with the gang, whoever they are--as well as his sister."
+
+CHAPTER TEN.
+
+IN THE LOBBY OF THE HOUSE.
+
+The weeks had slipped by.  Smeaton was not at all satisfied with the
+progress he was making.  His inquiries had led him into a _cul-de-sac_.
+The absence of the man Stent from the Savoy worried him.  It looked as
+though the man had received a hint from Mrs Saxton, and taken the
+alarm.  In addition, he had constant inquiries from the Home Secretary
+as to what progress he was making.
+
+He paid a visit to Chesterfield Street to talk over matters.  Before he
+left, Sheila screwed up her courage to tell him of Varney's visit, and
+their acquiescence in his proposal to investigate on his own account.
+
+She had expected that he would display resentment at their having taken
+such a step before consulting him.  But, to her relief, he did nothing
+of the kind.
+
+"Varney is a rather clever young chap," he admitted, "and if he devoted
+himself entirely to detective work, and acquired plenty of experience, I
+believe he would be as good as, if not better than, many of us.  In the
+Caxley mystery he certainly got on the right track, while we went
+blundering on wrong lines altogether.  And the revelations in the Balham
+affair were entirely due to him."
+
+"He spoke very highly of you," said Sheila, with woman's _finesse_.  "I
+am glad you don't think we did wrong."
+
+"Not at all, my dear young lady.  Tell him not to hesitate to come to
+me--if he is in need of any special facilities that I can give."
+
+"No news of Mrs Saxton, I suppose?" asked Sheila, as Smeaton was on the
+point of leaving the drawing-room.
+
+"None at all.  She is at home, and nobody seems to go near her but her
+brother.  I told you how she put me on the wrong scent about Stent.
+Once or twice I have thought of going there again and taxing her with
+it.  But what would be the good?  She would still stick to her story
+that she knew next to nothing about him.  In giving me the St Albans
+clue she would swear she had mixed him up with somebody else.  My men
+seem cooling their heels to no purpose.  She knows she is being watched,
+and she won't give us a chance.  I expect she does all her necessary
+work on the telephone, and we must attend to that point at once."
+
+Next morning Mrs Saxton aroused herself from her apparent inactivity,
+and gave her watchers a big surprise, which added to Smeaton's growing
+dissatisfaction with the state of affairs.
+
+At about eleven o'clock her maid whistled up a taxi.  Mason, the head
+detective on duty, immediately communicated with his own taxi-driver,
+waiting in readiness round the corner, and entered the cab, giving
+instructions to follow the other when it started.
+
+She came out without any luggage, simply carrying a small vanity bag.
+She might be going shopping, to pay a visit, to send a telegram, or a
+hundred-and-one things.  His duty was to follow her.
+
+The woman's cab drove down the Edgware Road, crossed the Park, and
+stopped at the Hyde Park Tube Station.  Here Mrs Saxton paid the fare,
+and went into the booking-office.  Mason at her heels.  She took a
+ticket to Piccadilly Circus, and Mason did the same.  They went down
+together in the same lift, Mrs Saxton near the door of exit, he at the
+other end of the lift.
+
+He was puzzled as to her movements.  If she wanted to get to Piccadilly
+Circus, why had she taken this roundabout route?  The taxi would have
+taken her there direct.
+
+The train was full.  For a few seconds he was separated from her by a
+surging and struggling crowd blocking the entrances to the long cars.
+By dint of hard fighting he managed to get in the same carriage.
+
+So far, luck seemed in his favour.  It was a non-stop train, and went
+past Down Street.  At the next station, Dover Street, he saw her turn
+half round, and cast a furtive glance in his direction.  She was
+evidently debating within herself if she would chance getting out there.
+
+While thus deliberating, the train re-started.  At Piccadilly Circus
+there was a considerable exodus, as there always is.  The process of
+disembarking was slow, owing to the number of passengers.
+
+They both emerged into Jermyn Street, and went along to the Haymarket.
+Here she looked round, apparently for a taxi, but there was not one in
+sight.  It struck him, as he caught a side glimpse of her features, that
+she was looking worried and harassed.  Evidently his persistent dogging
+had shaken her nerves.
+
+She walked slowly, with the deliberate gait of a person who was
+perturbed, and thinking hard.  She entered a big drapery shop, where
+Mason was compelled to follow her for reasons.
+
+Had it been an ordinary kind of shop, he would have waited outside, till
+she came out.  This particular establishment, however, had two
+entrances, one in Regent Street and one in Piccadilly.  She knew this,
+of course, and would slip out of the one he was not watching.  So he
+followed her in.
+
+Having bought a pair of long cream gloves she glanced furtively around,
+and then left the shop, passing into Regent Street.  Afterwards she
+spent some time looking into the shop windows up and down that busy
+thoroughfare, ultimately returning to the Piccadilly Tube Station, where
+she took a ticket for Knightsbridge, Mason following all the while.
+
+Her face was wan and haggard with the relentless chase, but her eyes
+expressed indomitable resolution.  They seemed to flash across at him as
+they sat in the same car the unspoken message: "I will outwit you yet."
+
+At Knightsbridge both watcher and watched ascended in the same lift,
+with its clanging lattice gate, and it was quite plain that Mrs Saxton
+was now in a quandary how to escape.  In a careless attitude she passed
+from the street back into the booking-hall, where she pretended to idle
+up and down, as though awaiting someone.  Now and then she looked up at
+the clock as though anxious and impatient.
+
+Mason believed her anxiety to be merely a ruse, but was both surprised
+and interested when a small ragged urchin entering the place suddenly
+recognised her, and handed her a note.
+
+She took it eagerly, and without examining it crushed it hurriedly into
+her little black silk bag, giving the little fellow a shilling,
+whereupon he thanked her and ran merrily out.
+
+Next instant Mason slipped forth after the lad in order to question him,
+leaving the woman safely in the booking-hall.  In a few seconds he
+stopped the boy and asked good-humouredly who had given him the letter.
+
+"A gentleman in Notting 'Ill," was the urchin's prompt reply.  "I don't
+know 'im.  'E only said that a lady in a big black 'at, and dressed all
+in black and carryin' a bag, would be waitin' for me, and that I were to
+give the note to 'er."
+
+"Is that all you know, my good lad?"  Mason inquired quickly, giving him
+another shilling.
+
+"Yus.  That's all I knows, sir," he replied.
+
+While speaking, the detective had kept his eye upon the booking-hall,
+and swiftly returned to it, only, however, to find that the woman was
+not there.
+
+The descending lift was full, the lattice gates were closed and it had
+just started down when he peered within.
+
+In the lift was Mrs Saxton, who, with a smile of triumph, disappeared
+from his view.
+
+Mason, in a sorry and chastened frame of mind, took the next lift,
+which, as always happens under such circumstances, was unusually long in
+arriving.  To him, it seemed an eternity.
+
+He got down to the platform, in time to see the tail of a departing
+train.  Mrs Saxton had not waited in the booking-hall in vain.  She had
+two minutes' start of him, and he might hunt London over before he would
+again find her.
+
+Only one thing was certain: Mrs Saxton was certainly a very clever
+woman, who, no doubt, had prepared that very clever ruse of the arrival
+of the letter, well-knowing that the messenger must draw off the
+detective's attention, and thus give her time to slip away.
+
+That same evening James Farloe, who had been chatting in the Lobby of
+the House of Commons with a couple of Members of the Opposition, was
+suddenly called aside by Sir Archibald Turtrell, Member for North
+Canterbury, who, in a low, mysterious whisper, asked:
+
+"Look here, Farloe, is this rumour true?"
+
+"What rumour?" inquired the private secretary, who was a well-known
+figure about the House, as are those of all secretaries to Ministers of
+the Crown.
+
+"Why, that Mr Monkton is missing, and that he is not at Cannes as the
+papers say.  Everyone is discussing it."
+
+The sleek, well-dressed young man in a morning suit with a white slip
+within his waistcoat, laughed sarcastically, as he replied:
+
+"I wonder.  Sir Archibald, who it is who spreads such ridiculous
+rumours.  I had a letter from Mr Monkton only this morning from Cannes.
+That's all I know."
+
+"And yet a telegram that I sent to the Beau Site yesterday has been
+returned to-night undelivered!"
+
+For a second Farloe held his breath.  Serious inquiry was apparently
+being made by Members of the House, in spite of all the precautions of
+the Home Secretary.
+
+"Oh," he replied, with well-feigned carelessness.  "The Colonial
+Secretary left the Beau Site over a fortnight ago.  People were worrying
+him, so his doctor sent him to a furnished villa."
+
+"What is his address?"
+
+"I'm very sorry.  Sir Archibald, but I am unable to give it.  I have
+instructions to that effect," was the secretary's cautious reply.  "If
+you give me your note, or write to his club, I will see that it is
+attended to.  Doctor Monier wrote me three days ago asking me not to
+send his patient any matters concerning public affairs that might worry
+him."
+
+"But his daughter still remains in Chesterfield Street," observed the
+Baronet.  "It is strange she is not with him.  The rumour is growing
+that Monkton has disappeared, and that the police are searching for
+him."
+
+"I know," laughed the other.  "I have heard so.  It is all too
+ridiculous.  The truth has already been published in the Press.  Mr
+Monkton has had a very serious nervous breakdown, and is on the
+Riviera--even though it is summer."
+
+"You are quite certain of that--eh, Farloe?"
+
+"Why should I tell you an untruth?" asked the secretary blandly.
+
+They were standing near the Members' post-office, and the Baronet,
+having exchanged a nod with the Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, who
+was just passing into the House itself, gazed full into the secretary's
+eyes.
+
+"Tell me, Farloe--tell me in strict confidence," he urged.  "I'll not
+whisper a word, but--well, do you happen to know anyone of the name of
+Stent?"
+
+The young man hesitated, though he preserved the most complete and
+remarkable control.
+
+"Stent?  Stent?" he repeated.  "No.  The name is quite unfamiliar to
+me."
+
+"Are you quite certain?  Think."
+
+"I have already thought.  I have never heard that name," was the reply.
+
+"You are quite positive that he is not acquainted with Mr Monkton in
+some peculiar and mysterious way?"
+
+"How should I possibly know?  All the Colonial Minister's friends are
+not known to me.  Mr Monkton is a very popular man, remember.  But
+why," he added, "do you ask about this man Stent?"
+
+"Because it is told to me that he is a mysterious friend of Monkton's."
+
+"Not as far as I am aware," declared Farloe.  "I certainly have no
+knowledge of their friendship, and the name is so unusual that one would
+certainly recollect it."
+
+The Baronet smiled.  Farloe, seeing that he was unconvinced, was eager
+to escape from any further awkward cross-examination.
+
+"I really wish that you would be frank with me," said Sir Archibald, who
+was one of Britain's business magnates and a great friend of Monkton's.
+"I am informed that this person Stent is in possession of the true and
+actual facts concerning the Minister's curious disappearance."
+
+Farloe realised that something was leaking out, yet he maintained a firm
+attitude of pretended resentment.
+
+"Well, Sir Archibald," he protested.  "I cannot well see how I can be
+more frank with you.  I've never heard of this mysterious person."
+
+"H'm!" grunted the Baronet, unconvinced.  "Perhaps one day, my dear
+Farloe, you will regret this attempt to wriggle out of a very awkward
+situation."  Then, after a pause, he added: "You know quite as well as
+I, with others, know, that my friend Monkton is missing!" and the
+Baronet turned abruptly, leaving Farloe standing in the Lobby.  He
+passed the two police constables and the idling detective, and entered
+the House itself.
+
+Farloe, utterly aghast at Sir Archibald's remarks and the knowledge he
+evidently possessed, walked blindly out of St Stephen's full of grave
+thoughts.
+
+Not only were the police hot upon the trail which might lead them to the
+astounding truth concerning the death of the man who, dressed in the
+Colonial Minister's clothes, had expired in the house in Chesterfield
+Street, but the facts were being rumoured that night in the world of
+politics, and to-morrow the chattering little world which revolves in
+the square mile around Piccadilly and calls itself Society, would also
+be agog with the sinister story.
+
+At the corner of Dean's Yard, not a hundred yards from where the
+taxi-man Davies had been hailed and the unidentified stranger had been
+put into his cab, Farloe found a passing taxi and in it drove to his
+rooms, a cosy little first-floor flat in Ryder Street, St James's.
+
+So eager was he that, without taking off his hat, he went at once to the
+telephone on his writing-table and asked for "trunk."  Ten minutes later
+he spoke to somebody.
+
+"Get in your car, and come here at once!" he said.  "There's not an
+instant to be lost.  I'll wait up for you, but don't delay a moment.  I
+can't talk over the 'phone, but the situation is very serious.  Bring a
+suit-case.  You may have to go to the Continent by the nine o'clock
+train in the morning."
+
+He listened attentively to the reply.
+
+"Eh--what?  Oh!--yes.  I sent a boy with a letter to Knightsbridge
+station.  She's got away all right.  Do get here as quickly as you can--
+won't you?  Leave your car in some garage, and walk here.  Don't stop
+the car outside.  I'll leave the hall-door ajar for you.  No--I can't
+tell you anything more over the 'phone--I really can't."
+
+CHAPTER ELEVEN.
+
+MAINLY CONCERNS MR STENT.
+
+James Farloe hung up the telephone receiver, and, lighting a cigar, sat
+down to think, while wailing for his visitor.
+
+He was rather a good-looking young fellow, but, examined closely, his
+face was not prepossessing.  There was a certain furtive expression
+about him, as of a man continually on the watch lest he should betray
+himself, and the eyes were shifty.  His sister was probably as insincere
+as himself, but, on the whole, she made a better impression.
+
+He was too perturbed to sit for long, for, truth to tell, his thoughts
+were not pleasant company.  Two or three times he got up and paced the
+room, with a noiseless stealthy tread that was characteristic of him.
+Then, tired of the monotony of waiting, he selected a book from the
+limited store in a small revolving bookcase, and tried to read.
+
+But the words danced before his unquiet eyes, and conveyed no meaning.
+Again and again he had to resort to his noiseless pacings of the
+thickly-carpeted room, to allay the tedium of waiting.
+
+But the slow minutes passed at last.  He drew out his watch, noted the
+time, and drew a sigh of relief.  It was one-thirty a.m.
+
+"He can't be long now," he muttered.  "At this hour of the night he can
+put on any speed he likes.  He's an obstinate devil, but he would be
+pretty sure to start straight away, after my urgent summons."
+
+Even as he spoke, the figure of a man in a motor-cap and heavy overcoat
+was stealing quietly along Ryder Street.  A moment more, and footsteps
+were heard on the stairs.
+
+Farloe hastened to open the hall-door of his cosy little suite, and
+closed it noiselessly after the entrance of his visitor.  They nodded to
+each other.  The man advanced, and stood under the electric light
+suspended from the middle of the ceiling.
+
+He was of medium height, well-dressed, and of gentlemanly appearance.
+He had aquiline features, and piercing dark eyes.
+
+He was the man who had been identified by Davies the driver as one of
+the two who had put the dying man in his taxi at Dean's Yard, with
+instructions to drive him to Chesterfield Street--the man known to the
+police, through the information given by Mrs Saxton, by the name of
+Stent.
+
+They did not waste time in preliminary remarks or greetings; they were
+probably too old acquaintances to indulge in such trivial formalities,
+but proceeded to business at once.
+
+"So she got clear away?" remarked the man known as Stent.  "I always
+said she was one of the smartest women in England.  How did she outwit
+the detective?"
+
+Farloe smiled.  "It was beautifully simple," he replied.  "She 'phoned
+me up in the morning to say she was starting in a few moments, and that
+she was sure this fellow would hang on to her as long as he could.  She
+asked me if I could suggest any way of outwitting him.  At the moment I
+couldn't."
+
+Stent darted a glance at his companion which was not exactly one of
+appreciation.  "Your sister is quicker at that sort of thing than you,"
+he said briefly.
+
+Farloe did not appear to notice the slight conveyed in the words and
+tone, and went on in his smooth voice:
+
+"I expect so.  Anyway, she had it cut and dried.  She was going to lead
+him a nice little dance till it was time to get rid of him.  She would
+take him down to Piccadilly Circus, trot him about there for some little
+time, and then get back to the Knightsbridge Tube Station."
+
+"Yes--and then?"
+
+"I was to send a boy with a note to the Tube station at a certain time.
+I picked up a boy, giving him a full description of her, and packed him
+off.  All happened as she expected.  The man was tempted away by the
+boy, out of whom he could get nothing that would be of any use to him,
+and for a few moments left her unwatched.  Hers was a bold stroke.
+While he was interviewing the urchin, she slipped into a descending
+lift, and left Mr Detective glaring at her from outside."
+
+Stent laughed appreciatively.  "Well done!" he remarked.  "But I have no
+doubt she would have hit upon something else had that failed."
+
+Farloe assented briefly.  He was very fond of his sister, but it had
+always been rather a sore point with him to know that she had impressed
+everybody with the fact that she was much the cleverer and subtler of
+the two.
+
+There was a brief pause.  Then Farloe pointed to the table, upon which
+stood glasses, a decanter of whisky, and a syphon of soda-water.
+
+"Help yourself, and sit down while we chat," he said pleasantly.  "I'm
+sorry to have brought you out so late."
+
+Stent helped himself liberally to the spirit, took a long draught, and
+sat down in one of the two big saddle-bag chairs.  When he had entered
+the room, Farloe had noticed certain signs of irritation.  Perhaps the
+soothing influence of the whisky helped to restore him to a more equable
+frame of mind.  Anyway, when he answered Farloe his voice was quite
+smooth and amiable.
+
+"Yes, I was deucedly put out at having to start off at a minute's
+notice.  If I hadn't said good-bye to nerves long ago, you would have
+made me feel quite jumpy, with your talk about bringing a suit-case with
+me, and having to cross the Channel.  Now let me know the meaning of it
+all.  I've brought the suit-case in the car.  Tell me," he urged, fixing
+the younger man with his keen piercing gaze.  Farloe shifted a little
+uneasily under that intense glance.  Somehow, he never felt quite at his
+ease in Stent's presence.
+
+"I haven't your nerves, or, rather the want of them, that I admit.  And
+perhaps I take fright a little too easily.  Still, I think you ought to
+be informed of this: that certain people are beginning to know--well--a
+bit too much."
+
+Stent's hard, resolute mouth curved in a smile that was half
+incredulous, half contemptuous.
+
+"Certain people always know too much--or too little.  In this case, I
+should say it was the latter."
+
+But Farloe stuck to his guns.  "I was tackled to-night at the House by
+Sir Archibald Turtrell.  You know of him, of course?"
+
+The other nodded.  There was vindictiveness in his tone, as he replied:
+"A regular old cackler and bore."
+
+"I don't dispute he is both, but that doesn't alter the fact that he
+pushed me very hard with some searching questions.  I parried them as
+best I could, but from his last remarks I could see he didn't believe a
+word I was saying."
+
+Stent shifted uneasily in his chair; his ill-humour was evidently
+returning.
+
+"My dear Farloe, you must excuse me for saying that you don't always act
+with the greatest discretion.  Why the devil do you want to go to the
+House at all for, laying yourself open to be cross-examined by anybody
+and everybody you meet?  Look how differently your sister has acted; she
+has lain as low as possible, and finally shown them a clean pair of
+heels.  I don't advise you to do exactly the same, for obvious reasons,
+but it would be advisable to keep very much out of the way till things
+have blown over."
+
+The younger man was evidently not thin-skinned, or he would have
+indulged in some outburst at those very candid remarks.  Stent went on,
+in his hard, but not altogether unpleasant voice:
+
+"It has often struck me that this sort of thing is not quite suitable to
+a man of your temperament.  But now you are in it, you must cultivate
+the art of keeping your nerves in better order, as I have done.  Don't
+start at shadows.  What you have told me doesn't disturb me in the
+least; it is just what might be expected."
+
+"You haven't forgotten that young beggar Varney is on the track?" put in
+Farloe quietly.  "I saw him go into Monkton's house as late as
+yesterday.  He is more to be feared than Smeaton, in my opinion."
+
+"I don't care a snap of the finger for the young pup," cried the other,
+in his most obstinate voice, and a tightening of the resolute jaw that
+was so well-matched with the dark, piercing eyes.
+
+Farloe waited till his companion's momentary irritation had subsided,
+then he put a question.
+
+"You are quite sure that the police have not traced you yet?"
+
+"Absolutely," came Stent's reply.  He added, in his grimmest manner;
+"I've not given them a chance."
+
+They talked on for a long time, the elder man combating sometimes half
+humorously, sometimes with ill-concealed irritation, the pessimism of
+the other.  At length when he rose it was nearly three o'clock.
+
+"You will let me put you up for the night," urged Farloe.
+
+"To be in time for the Paris train in the morning?" laughed the other.
+"No, thanks, my friend.  I want to be somewhere else about that time."
+
+He had drunk a good deal during the interview, and Farloe knew that he
+was getting into one of those dare-devil moods, in which it was rather
+dangerous to play with him, or to cross him.
+
+"As you please," he said, a little sullenly.  "I hope you are quite
+right in your confidence that they have not got on our tracks yet."
+
+"Make your mind easy, my dear chap.  Your sister took care of that by
+putting our friend Smeaton on a wrong scent.  I have often laughed when
+I thought of them hunting every nook and corner around St Albans for
+the gentleman with whom she had only a casual acquaintance."
+
+Farloe made no reply.  Stent held out one hand, and with the other
+clapped the young man on the shoulder with rough good humour.
+
+"Good-night, old man.  Go to bed and sleep soundly, for I'm going.  And,
+I say, don't bring me out again on a midnight ride like this unless
+there is very strong reason.  Now, just a last word--and I say it in all
+seriousness--I am not a bit discouraged by what you have told me.  Let
+them smell about, but they'll find nothing."
+
+He turned to the door, and fired a parting shot:
+
+"Now, you follow my advice not to give way to idle fancies, and you'll
+turn out as well as any of us.  And we shall all be proud of you.  Once
+again, good-night."
+
+As he spoke the last word, the telephone bell rang, and he paused, and
+turned round.
+
+Farloe looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
+
+"Past three, by Jove!  There's only one person would ring me up at this
+time of night.  It's Maude.  Perhaps it is important; you had better
+stay a moment," he said.
+
+Stent stayed.  Farloe took off the receiver, and listened for a little
+time to the voice at the other end.  Although Stent could not
+distinguish the words, now and then he caught an inflection that he
+recognised.  Farloe's conjecture was right.  It was Mrs Saxton who had
+rung him up.
+
+Then Stent heard the young man's reply.
+
+"Hold on a minute, he is here.  He was just going when you rang."
+
+He beckoned to Stent.  "She wanted me to send you word that she wished
+to meet you.  You can arrange it with her yourself."
+
+They talked for a few seconds.  At one of her remarks Stent laughed
+heartily.  He turned to Farloe.
+
+"She is suggesting that we don't make it the Knightsbridge Tube
+Station."  Then he turned again to the instrument.
+
+"That was a capital move of yours; your brother has just been telling me
+about it.  Really, I think just now it might be as convenient a place as
+any; they would never think you would have the cheek to go there again
+so soon.  Let us meet at the old spot.  That's safe enough.  To-morrow
+then.  All right.  Good-bye."
+
+CHAPTER TWELVE.
+
+THE OCCUPIER OF FOREST VIEW.
+
+When Mason, Detective-Sergeant, C.I.D., with crestfallen air narrated
+the history of his adventures with the elusive Mrs Saxton, he had
+expected his chief to indulge in a few sarcastic comments.  But Smeaton
+only shrugged his shoulders expressively.  After all, he had come off
+only second best in his encounter with her himself.
+
+"A very clever woman, Mason," he said, after some hesitation.  "I found
+that out at the start.  It means she has made a bolt of it.  It will be
+some time before Hyde Park Mansions sees her again."
+
+He was right.  Three days elapsed, and the fugitive did not return.  On
+the fourth, Mason, acting in accordance with instructions, went boldly
+up to the flat and rang the bell.
+
+The neat-looking maid told him that her mistress had gone abroad.
+
+Mason affected to be very much put out.  "Dear me, it's very annoying.
+I wanted to see her on most urgent business.  Can you oblige me with her
+address?"
+
+"She didn't leave one, sir.  She said she would be back in a month or
+six weeks, and would be travelling about from place to place all the
+time.  She told us that any letters could wait till her return."
+
+Mason observed her sharply while she gave this information in quite a
+natural manner.  She seemed a simple, innocent kind of girl.  Of course,
+she might be in league with the escaped woman, but he was rather
+inclined to believe she was telling the truth.
+
+Mrs Saxton had begun to find the atmosphere a trifle uncomfortable, and
+had duped her servants with this story of going abroad, he reasoned with
+himself.  She might give London itself a wide berth, but she was
+somewhere near where she could be in pretty close touch with her
+friends.  Of that he was certain.
+
+Things, therefore, were at a deadlock as concerned Stent and this woman.
+
+Meanwhile, young Varney, confident that Farloe was a mysterious and
+important connecting link, kept a steady watch upon the chambers in
+Ryder Street.
+
+For the first three days his exertions went unrewarded.  But on the
+fourth he followed Farloe in a taxi to the Great Eastern Hotel, in
+Liverpool Street, where he was joined by a man whom, by his strongly
+marked aquiline features and piercing eyes, he suspected to be the
+elusive Stent.
+
+When the pair left the hotel, he followed them.  It was the luncheon
+hour, and the city streets were crowded.  For full five minutes he kept
+them in sight, and then he became separated and lost them.
+
+On the second occasion he was more fortunate.  About three o'clock one
+afternoon the pair came forth from Farloe's chambers, and together
+walked leisurely, talking earnestly the while.
+
+As far as Victoria Station they went together to the Brighton line.
+There they parted.  The elder man entered the booking-hall of the London
+and Brighton line, and asked for a ticket to Horsham.  Varney did the
+same.
+
+It was a slow train, and half-empty.  When Horsham was reached, only
+three passengers alighted: himself, the man he was watching, and a young
+woman.
+
+He inquired of the ticket-collector if at any place near he could hire a
+cycle, as he thought of coming down for a week's holiday, and would like
+to explore the country for an hour or so.
+
+The man directed him to a shop close by.  He seemed a very civil young
+fellow, and Varney chatted with him for a few seconds.
+
+"By the way," he said, as he moved away.  "That gentleman who went out
+just now--isn't he Mr Emerson, the well-known barrister?"
+
+The young man shook his head.  "No, sir.  Mr Strange has recently come
+to live here, about five months ago.  He's taken Forest View, an
+old-fashioned house a mile and a half away."
+
+"Curious," remarked the amateur detective, in a voice of well-feigned
+surprise.  "Really, how very easily one may be mistaken.  I see Mr
+Emerson three or four times each week, and I could have sworn it was
+he."
+
+The ticket-collector smiled civilly, but made no reply.  He was not
+interested in this sudden creation of Varney's lively imagination.
+
+The journalist crossed to the cycle shop and there hired a machine,
+paying down the usual deposit.  He wheeled it until he met a small boy,
+from whom he inquired the whereabouts of Forest View.
+
+He was on the right road, the boy informed him.  The house with green
+iron gates lay on the left-hand side.  His machine would take him there
+in a few minutes.
+
+However, he did not mount it, as in that case he would quickly overtake
+Mr Strange, who was proceeding there on foot.  He preferred that this
+gentleman should get there first, so as to give him an opportunity of
+having a good look round.
+
+Twenty minutes' easy walking brought him to the big iron gates of Forest
+View.  He had seen the man disappear within, about a couple of hundred
+yards in front of him.  There was not a soul in sight; he could
+reconnoitre at his leisure.
+
+The house, old-fashioned, low and rather rambling, lay well back from
+the white high road, at right angles to it.  A thick hedge led up to
+within a few feet of the entrance.  It seemed to boast a fair piece of
+ground, at least three acres.  The entrance to some rather dilapidated
+stabling was lower down the road.
+
+He felt a sense of triumph.  Smeaton, he knew, was still searching for
+Stent, and he, the amateur, had forestalled him.  Was he right, after
+all, in his surmise that by some curious lapse the man of wider
+experience had left Farloe out of his calculations, and the man Stent
+was identical with the man Strange?
+
+His survey finished, he mounted his machine, and rode along, thinking
+out his plans.
+
+"Find a nice comfortable inn somewhere near, but not too close, pose as
+an artist out for a brief holiday, and find out all there is to be found
+about the mysterious Mr Strange," was the result of his meditations.
+
+A mile lower down the road he came upon a small, old-fashioned inn, with
+a swinging sign, and trailing roses over the porch and walls.  There he
+entered, and called for some refreshment.
+
+"Thirsty with your ride--eh, sir?" asked the landlord pleasantly.
+
+"A bit, although I haven't ridden very far yet.  I hired a machine in
+the town in order to have a look round.  I want a week's holiday badly,
+and I should like to hit upon some quiet quarters about here.  It seems
+a nice piece of country."
+
+The landlord pricked up his ears.  "Perhaps it's the George in Horsham
+you might prefer."
+
+"Oh dear no!  I want an old-fashioned inn, like this.  But I suppose you
+don't take guests?"
+
+The fat landlord glanced at him hesitatingly.  Varney was attired in a
+well-cut Norfolk suit, and his plush Homburg hat must have hailed from
+Bond Street.  He looked the sort of man for a fashionable hotel, not an
+obscure bacon-and-egg inn.
+
+"Well, sir, we do now and again.  We don't pretend to do you like the
+big places with French dishes and that sort of thing.  But my wife is a
+good plain cook, and you won't get better meat and chickens than we
+have."
+
+Terms were soon arranged.  Varney--or Mr Franks as he announced himself
+to the landlord--would come down to-morrow, bringing with him a few
+sketching materials.
+
+Next day Varney returned with a portable easel, and other paraphernalia
+appertaining to his supposed art.  He had not been in the house
+half-an-hour before he engaged the landlord in a conversation about the
+local gentry.  And it was soon deftly focussed upon the owner of Forest
+View.
+
+Mr Peter Chawley was by nature a gregarious and communicative soul.  He
+was only reticent when policy or prudence counselled such a course of
+action.
+
+"Mr Strange has been here about five months," he informed young Varney,
+in his fat, somewhat wheezy voice, "but we don't know very much about
+him.  When he first came, he used to go up to London pretty often, but
+for some time he has hardly stirred out of the house."
+
+"Has he any acquaintances in the place?"
+
+Mr Chawley shook his head.  "Doesn't want any, so he told the Vicar
+when he called upon him.  Said he had come here for a quiet life, and
+wanted to get away from his business in London and the friends he had
+already.  Of course, that was a pretty broad hint--so nobody called.  He
+doesn't deal with anybody here for a pennyworth of matches.  Gets
+everything from London."
+
+"What household has he?  And is he a widower, or bachelor, or married?"
+
+"Told the Vicar he was a widower.  He has three maids: the cook, a
+middle-aged woman, housemaid, and parlourmaid--all three he brought with
+him.  The gardener's a local man, a young chap, and comes in here once
+in a while; but he knows no more than the rest of us.  He hardly ever
+enters the house, and the maids don't chatter."
+
+Forest View was a household that evidently kept its own secrets.  The
+maids did not chatter, even to the young local gardener.  Mystery here,
+thought Varney, without a doubt.  It was his business to fathom it.  Was
+he really Stent?  That was the point.
+
+"He got the house pretty cheap," went on Mr Chawley, who was not easily
+stopped when he indulged in reminiscence, "because it had been unlet for
+five years.  It's a funny old place, all nooks and corners, without any
+modern convenience.  Some people say it's haunted, and I've heard that
+there is a secret room in it, like what they used to hide the priests in
+in the old days."
+
+A mysterious house, with a mysterious owner, truly, thought Varney, as
+the landlord rambled on.
+
+"Does he have anybody to see him?"
+
+"He never seems to have had but one visitor, a gentleman rather older
+than himself.  He used to run down for two or three days at a time.  For
+some time now he's been staying with him altogether."
+
+Varney pricked up his ears.  Was he going to discover anything useful?
+
+"Do you know his friend's name?" he asked eagerly.
+
+"No, sir.  The gardener has never heard it, but then, as I say, he
+hardly ever goes inside the house."
+
+The next day, and the day after, Varney watched Forest View closely.
+From the roadway he had a fairly clear view of the sloping lawn.  But
+neither its occupier nor his visitor were tempted out by the beautiful
+weather.  They were certainly an extraordinary pair to shut themselves
+up in a gloomy house on these bright sunshiny days.
+
+On the third day, however, both emerged from their seclusion, and
+sauntered on to the lawn.  The visitor seemed to stoop slightly, and
+walk with the languid air of a man who had recently recovered from an
+illness.
+
+They walked about only for a little while, and, as they went back into
+the house, Varney, from his hiding-place behind the hedge, heard Mr
+Strange say:
+
+"Well, if you think you feel fit enough, we will walk into Horsham after
+lunch.  We can drive back.  It may do you good."
+
+An idea had formed itself in Varney's brain, fitting in with one of the
+theories he had formed about this remarkable case.
+
+A little after one o'clock the supposed artist stole through the door of
+the inn, a basket in one hand, a good-sized bag in the other.
+
+A few yards down the road he disappeared up a side road, crossed a
+field, and advanced towards an old disused barn which he had noted on
+the previous day, and slipped inside.
+
+A few moments later there issued a strange and shabbily dressed figure,
+with a slouching walk.  On his left arm hung a basket, full of roses,
+which had been bought a short time ago from Mrs Chawley.  They were so
+beautiful, Varney told her, that he must paint them.
+
+In the guise of a decrepit flower-seller he limped along to the narrow
+main street of Horsham, and hung about till the pair from Forest View
+arrived, when he faced them and advancing towards them with his basket
+before him, he whined when he had got up to them:
+
+"Buy a bunch of roses, sir.  Threepence a bunch.  All fresh picked,
+sir."
+
+"No," said Strange gruffly, "we don't want any, got lots of them," and
+the pair turned away in ignorance that within that basket, concealed by
+the flowers, was a small detective camera by which a snapshot of both of
+them had already been cleverly secured in secret.
+
+Varney made his way back at once to the old barn, where he discarded his
+shabby jacket and cap.
+
+Early next morning he was on his way to Smeaton.  He had a hope that his
+investigations had been fruitful, but he could not be sure.  Certainly
+the face and figure of the man Strange answered to the description of
+the person named Stent whom Scotland Yard had been unable to trace.
+
+Having developed and printed the photograph at his own rooms, he was
+shown into Smeaton's bare official sanctum which overlooked Westminster
+Bridge, when the celebrated official rose and gripped his hand.
+
+"Well, Varney?" he asked, "have you done anything in the Monkton
+mystery--eh?"
+
+"Yes.  A bit.  Look here.  Is this Stent--or not?  If it is.  I've found
+him."
+
+The detective took the damp print and examined it curiously in the light
+by the window.
+
+"Well--the only man who can really identify it is our friend at the
+Savoy Hotel.  Let's take a taxi and go and see him."
+
+CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
+
+CONTAINS FURTHER DISCOVERIES.
+
+They found the hall-porter at the Savoy hotel, and showed him the print.
+It was not a very wonderful specimen of the photographer's art, but it
+was enough for Smeaton's old friend.
+
+"That's him--right enough!" the man in uniform exclaimed.  "And you say
+that you were told his name was Stent by the lady we spoke about, and
+this gentleman has discovered him under another name.  Well, I always
+thought there was something mysterious about him."
+
+After such confirmation it could no longer be doubted that Varney had
+run the supposed Stent to earth.  He felt a distinct sense of triumph.
+He had hoped his exertions might have produced some startling results,
+but still, he had done something.
+
+Smeaton was not an envious man, and congratulated him heartily.  "It's
+really a feather in your cap, my dear Varney," he said amiably.  "You
+got on the right track this time."
+
+Varney thanked him for his encouraging words.  "Now, what's the next
+move?  I leave it to you."
+
+Smeaton thought a few seconds before he answered.  When he spoke, he
+voiced the man's inmost thoughts.
+
+"I think the best thing you can do is to go back and keep up the
+sketching business.  We want to find out all we can about that house and
+its mysterious inmates.  And we especially want to know something about
+that invalid visitor.  There is just a chance, of course, that you may
+find Mrs Saxton popping up there."
+
+As all this exactly coincided with his own theory, Varney acquiesced
+readily.  He would go back to Horsham the next day, and resume his watch
+on Forest View.
+
+"You can't be watching in two places at once," added Smeaton presently.
+"So we will take up Farloe."
+
+So it was decided.  Mrs Saxton having disappeared, with small
+likelihood of her return, there remained three people to be shadowed:
+the secretary, Bolinski, and the man who went by the name of Strange,
+and who, for reasons of his own, was keeping away from the Savoy, and
+coming to London as seldom as possible.
+
+Varney's discovery, of which he was not a little proud, was duly
+reported to Sheila by the young man himself, who called upon her as soon
+as he had left Smeaton.
+
+She could not but admire his energy and determination, and she told him
+so, in no measured terms.  But when he had gone, she could not help
+thinking how futile it all seemed.
+
+"They all find a little something, and then they seem to come up against
+a dead end," she said to Wingate, when he paid her his usual daily
+visit.  "Weeks have gone by, and the mystery is as deep as ever.  How
+can it be otherwise?  What have they got to go upon?"
+
+And Wingate, taking her slender hand in his and pressing it, agreed that
+it was so.  He felt, as she did, that anything would be better than this
+horrible uncertainty.
+
+They had grown very dear to each other in these dark and dismal days.
+She had liked him from the first, and recognised in him one of those
+straight, clean-living young Englishmen to whom a girl might safely
+entrust her life and happiness.  He was so tender, so chivalrous, so
+sympathetic.
+
+If, for a few moments, she threw off the heavy load of sorrow weighing
+upon her, and showed some semblance of her former bright spirit, he fell
+at once into her mood.  And if she preferred silence, her sorrow-laden
+eyes filled with tears, he sat silent too, only evincing by a glance, or
+the pressure of her hand, that he understood and sympathised.
+
+It was not a time for ardent love-making.  But for this tragedy in her
+life, he might never have summoned courage to make love to her at all.
+The daughter of Reginald Monkton, the rich and popular statesman, seemed
+so far out of his reach.  With her beauty and her advantages, she could
+aspire to a brilliant match.
+
+Her position now, that of a lonely and orphaned girl, had altered
+everything, and swept away social barriers.  Insensibly, she had been
+drawn to him, till it seemed he was part of her life.
+
+And a time came when he could tell her of the desire of his heart.  One
+evening, when they had been saying good-bye, she had suddenly broken
+down, and burst into bitter sobbing.
+
+He had taken her in his arms, and whispered soothing words, while his
+pulses beat at the contact of her slender form.  She had lain in the big
+chair, crying more quietly as he strove to comfort her.  And then she
+had lifted up her pitiful face to his, and said:
+
+"Oh!  Austin, how good and gentle you are with me.  How could I have
+borne it without you?"
+
+He took heart of grace at those tender words.  His clasp round her
+tightened.
+
+"I have been of some help to you, then, dearest?"
+
+"The greatest," she answered fervently.  "If you did not come to me
+every day, I think I should go mad."
+
+He bent down and laid his lips upon her bowed head.
+
+"Dearest, if I have been able to comfort you now, could you let me
+comfort and cherish you all my life?  It is hardly a time to speak of
+such things, but I have loved you from the first moment we met--do you
+remember that day on the river, and afterwards, when I saw you at
+Hendon, and you asked me to call?"
+
+"Yes, I remember," she said in a low whisper.
+
+"Well, dearest, even if the worst should befall, you will want somebody
+to share your grief with you till time heals your sorrow.  I shall not
+press you till the first bitterness has passed.  Then, when you feel you
+can take up your life again, may I come to you, and repeat what I have
+said to-night?"
+
+"Yes.  Come again some day when my tears have had time to dry, and I
+will answer as you wish."
+
+Reverently he kissed the lips that were still trembling from her recent
+emotion.  That night he seemed to walk on air when he left the house,
+where he had spent so many happy hours before this terrible tragedy had
+overtaken them.
+
+He had loved her in the bloom and brightness of her youthful beauty,
+courted and caressed by all who knew her, the idol of her father, the
+light of his home, moving like a young princess among her subjects.  But
+he loved her ten times more now--pale and sad, with sorrow for her
+companion day and night.
+
+Meanwhile, down at Forest View things were going very quietly.  Varney
+had long chats with the landlord, and of an evening he picked up a few
+acquaintances in the inn, and talked with them, always leading the
+conversation round to the subject of Mr Strange.
+
+But he could discover nothing of any value.  Nobody knew anything of the
+man's antecedents.  As a matter of fact, he did not seem to interest
+anybody in the place.  They simply regarded him as an eccentric sort of
+person who wished to have nothing to do with his neighbours.
+
+He learned that, immediately on his arrival.  Strange had ordered a
+telephone to be installed.  He also gathered from the local postman,
+whose acquaintance he cultivated, that very few letters were received.
+Further, that most of them were in a feminine hand.  And these had been
+coming rather more frequently of late.
+
+He at once jumped to the conclusion that the female correspondent was
+Mrs Saxton.  But that did not help him much.  They knew already that
+Strange and she were closely connected.
+
+The two maids walked down to Horsham occasionally.  So far he had not
+set eyes upon the cook, who, apparently, did not require any change of
+scene.
+
+He was a presentable young fellow enough, and he imagined it would not
+be difficult to scrape up an acquaintance with the young women.  The one
+whom he took to be the parlourmaid, by her superior bearing, was a
+good-looking girl.
+
+He tried her first.  He opened his campaign by overtaking her on the
+road, and remarking on the pleasantness of the weather.  If she
+resembled the majority of her class, she would not object to exchanging
+a few remarks with a decent-looking member of the other sex.
+
+For himself, he was quite prepared to indulge in a flirtation, even a
+little mild love-making, if it would enable him to worm something out of
+her about the mysterious inmates of Forest View.
+
+But the parlourmaid was one too many for him.  She made no answer to his
+remark, and when he continued to walk along beside her, in the hope that
+her silence was only meant for coquetry, she stopped suddenly and faced
+him.
+
+"Look here, young man," she said, regarding him with a distinctly
+hostile countenance; "I'll thank you not to address any more remarks to
+me.  I suppose you think yourself a gentleman, and because I'm in
+service I shall be flattered by your taking notice of me.  Well, just
+understand I'm not that sort.  When you meet me again, perhaps you'll
+remember it."
+
+She quickened her footsteps, and left Varney feeling very foolish.  It
+was a rebuff alike to the man and the amateur detective.  Yes, he had
+blundered.
+
+She had a good figure, and she carried herself well, walking with a
+light springy step.  She was dressed plainly in neat but evidently
+inexpensive clothes, such as were suitable to her class.  If she had
+been attired in proper garments, she would have been taken for a young
+lady immediately.
+
+The thing that puzzled him most was her voice.  She had addressed him as
+"young man," and there was a certain blunt insolence in her remarks
+which negatived the idea of refinement.
+
+But even if her speech had been absolutely vulgar, the voice was
+unmistakably high-bred and cultivated; in a word, the voice of a lady.
+How came it that Mr Strange's parlourmaid wore the clothes of a
+servant, and spoke in the tones of a highly educated young woman?  It
+was one more mystery.
+
+Nothing daunted, he pursued the same tactics with the housemaid when he
+met her walking alone.  She was a plain girl, evidently of a different
+class.  At the start she was more civil, but after a minute or two,
+during which she had given the briefest answers to his ingratiating
+questions, she had turned upon him like the other, only in a less
+hostile manner, and explained to him that she did not desire either his
+conversation or his company.
+
+She was a little more polite than the parlourmaid, but that was all.
+She addressed him respectfully but firmly.
+
+"Excuse me, sir, but if it's the same to you, I'd rather walk alone.
+I'm not fond of making the acquaintance of gentlemen I know nothing
+about."
+
+Poor Varney felt he was not a success with the fair sex.  Or did they
+suspect him?
+
+A further piece of information, however, he got from his friend the
+postman.  He had asked Wingate and Sheila to occasionally put a blank
+sheet of paper in an envelope, and address it to him under the name of
+Franks, to keep up appearances.
+
+He met the man one morning outside Forest View and asked if there were
+any letters for him.
+
+"None by this post, sir.  Never had such a light round.  This is the
+last; it's for Mr Gregory, at Forest View, the gentleman what's staying
+there."
+
+So Gregory was the name of the invalid, who kept so closely to the
+house.
+
+But Gregory, no doubt, was an assumed name, like Stent alias Strange.
+
+CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
+
+THE CIPHER OF THE TWO C'S.
+
+"I am going to ask you a question, dearest; I fear it is a painful one,
+but I think it ought to be put."
+
+It was Austin Wingate who spoke.  He had dined with Sheila at
+Chesterfield Street, and after dinner the lovers had gone to her own
+sitting-room, which was on the first floor.
+
+She looked at him steadfastly.  "Painful or not, Austin, please put it.
+You would not hurt me, I know, unless you felt it was absolutely
+necessary."
+
+"Of course not, Sheila," answered the young man fervently.  "In our
+anxiety to solve this mystery concerning your father we must shrink from
+nothing.  The question I am going to ask you, dear, is this: Have you
+ever had any cause to suspect there was some hidden mystery in your
+father's life?  Do not be offended--will you?"
+
+She smiled faintly.  "What is called a skeleton in the cupboard, you
+mean--eh?  It seems impossible when one comes to consider the kind of
+man he was.  In political matters he was reserved; that was natural.  I
+have heard him laugh often over the efforts of people to draw him.  But,
+in every other respect he seemed as frank and open as the day."
+
+"He gave me that impression certainly," assented Wingate.  "During my
+mother's lifetime I don't know that I counted greatly in his life.  He
+was so wrapped up in her that he seemed to have no room for anybody
+else," went on the girl, in a musing voice.  "Then, after her death, and
+when his first passionate grief died down, he listened to me.  I could
+not hope to fill her place, but I became very necessary to him.  He has
+told me many times that but for me he would have been the most miserable
+man on earth.  I gave him new interests, and weaned him away from his
+sad thoughts."
+
+Wingate leaned forward, and kissed her tenderly upon the brow.  "You
+were born for the _role_ of ministering angel, my darling," he declared.
+
+She thanked him with a grateful glance for the pretty compliment.  "You
+ask me if I ever had cause to suspect that there was some hidden mystery
+in his life.  I can only answer, none.  His life seemed to me like an
+open book, that all who ran might read."
+
+Wingate was silent for a little time.  This was the impression made upon
+his daughter, an only child, who would have the most intimate
+opportunity of judging him.  It was the impression he had made upon
+close friends and casual acquaintances alike.
+
+And yet who could be sure?  A man trained to the law, versed in public
+affairs, was he likely to wear his heart upon his sleeve?
+
+When he spoke, it was in a hesitating voice: "I agree that intuition is
+a very safe guide in many instances.  And I believe with you that your
+father's life was a blameless one.  Still, there is one little thing we
+must not overlook."
+
+"And that little thing?" she questioned in a low voice.
+
+"What was the connection between him and the man whom they have
+identified as Bolinski?  Why does a man in his position make an
+appointment with a person so evidently not of his own world, unless to
+discuss something of a secret and mysterious nature?  Remember where
+they met, in a little hole-and-corner restaurant in Soho."
+
+"It has puzzled me, I admit," replied Sheila.  "It is strange, too, that
+he told me nothing of the appointment, for he used to inform me of his
+most trivial movements.  Thinking over it, as I have over every other
+incident, I believe it was connected with politics--there are plenty of
+under-currents in them, as we know.  He would not say anything to me
+about this meeting for fear I might drop an incautious word to some of
+our friends."
+
+"It is evident that he apprehended no treachery from this man," was
+Wingate's next remark, "or he would have taken some means to safeguard
+himself.  I mean, for one thing, he would not have left the House of
+Commons alone.  It may be, as you suggest, that this curious meeting, in
+an out-of-the-way and obscure restaurant, may have had some political
+motive.  But I can hardly bring myself to believe it.  I am sure that
+what brought such a strangely assorted couple together was a private and
+personal matter."
+
+"And that we have no means of knowing," said Sheila sadly.
+
+He was glad that she had not resented his question, and the suggestions
+that arose from it.  It emboldened him to proceed.
+
+"As I have said, it is our duty to leave no stone unturned, to look even
+in unlikely places for any fresh evidence which might afford a clue.
+There must be a mass of papers in this house I think you ought to go
+through them, darling."
+
+She gave a little cry.  "Oh!" she said in a tearful voice.  "It seems
+almost like sacrilege."
+
+"If such a search were conducted by other hands, it might be so, but
+assuredly not in your case."
+
+She thought a little, and her common-sense came to her aid.
+
+"You are quite right, Austin, as you always are.  It will be a terrible
+task, but, as you say, we must leave no stone unturned.  I will begin
+to-morrow, and keep on till I have finished."
+
+He called late next day, and found that she had got about half-way
+through the various piles.  But so far she had found nothing of
+importance.
+
+"I came across a few diaries.  He seems to have kept them for the best
+part of five years, and then dropped the practice.  They contain records
+of appointments, whom he met, and political events, but there's not a
+single entry that throws any light upon this affair."
+
+"I wonder if Farloe has any of his papers, or, more likely still, has
+abstracted any?" said Wingate in a musing voice.
+
+Sheila shuddered at the name.  "No wonder that I always hated him," she
+cried vehemently.  "Shall we ever learn the part he played in this
+mystery?"
+
+It took her a few days to go through her task, for she was fearful of
+missing a line in those carefully docketed piles of papers.  But it was
+all to no purpose.
+
+If there had been a secret in Reginald Monkton's life, no evidence had
+been preserved in these documents.
+
+"Newsom-Perry is pretty sure to have some papers in his possession,"
+said Wingate, when she had finished her futile task.  "I want to spare
+you everything I can, dear.  Will you give me a note to him, and I will
+ask him to hand them over to you?"
+
+Mr Newsom-Perry was Monkton's solicitor, the head of the firm which had
+acted for the missing statesman, and his father before him.
+
+Wingate presented himself at Lincoln's Inn Fields, and sent in his
+sweetheart's note.
+
+The solicitor, a genial, kindly-looking man of fifty or thereabouts,
+welcomed the young man cordially.
+
+"Pleased to see you, Mr Wingate," he said, as they shook hands.  "Poor
+Monkton has spoken to me several times of you, in warm terms.  I
+understand that you were a frequent visitor at the house before the sad
+event."
+
+Wingate explained that he was with Sheila awaiting her father, on the
+night when the dying man was brought to Chesterfield Street.
+
+The shrewd, kindly eyes watched him as he made the explanation.  Mr
+Newsom-Perry had his own ideas as to how matters stood between the young
+couple.
+
+"And what can I do for you, Mr Wingate?"
+
+"We thought it pretty certain that you would have some papers of Mr
+Monkton's here.  If that is the case, would you let his daughter look
+through them, in the hope of finding something that might throw a light
+upon the case?"
+
+"Under the circumstances, by all means, Mr Wingate.  Of course, we have
+got all his business documents, leases, and that kind of thing.  Those
+would be useless for your purpose?"
+
+"I should say, quite useless."
+
+"But I have a couple of boxes of private papers which he brought about
+two years ago.  He had been sorting out, he said, and his own house was
+as full as it could hold.  Knowing we had plenty of room, he thought we
+would not mind storing them.  I will send them round some time to-day.
+When she has gone through them perhaps Miss Monkton will let me have
+them back until, until--" He laughed, and did not finish the sentence.
+
+"I quite understand.  Now I will take up as little time as possible, but
+there are one or two questions I should like to ask you, if I may."
+
+The solicitor nodded genially.  "Go on, sir."
+
+"I take it that, having known Mr Monkton all your life, and your firm
+having acted for his father, you were entirely in your client's
+confidence."
+
+"That is so.  Monkton and I were personal friends, as well as solicitor
+and client.  We were at Cambridge together, before either of us
+commenced our respective careers."
+
+"Has he, to your knowledge, ever made any active enemies?"
+
+"Not that I know of.  Political enemies, no doubt, he has by the score--
+myself included.  But you know what English politics are.  It's a fair
+stand-up fight, and the loser grumbles a bit, but bears no rancour.  Men
+abuse each other across the floor of the House, and are good friends
+again in the smoking-room."
+
+"One other question, a somewhat delicate one, and I have done.  Had he
+ever an entanglement of any kind, the effects of which might pursue him
+in later life?"
+
+The solicitor rubbed his chin, and quite frankly replied:
+
+"Not to my knowledge.  That does not, however, conclusively prove a
+negative."
+
+"But you were close personal friends, in addition to your business
+relation.  Would it not be natural that, under such circumstances, he
+would come to you for advice?"
+
+There seemed an extra gleam of shrewdness in the solicitor's eyes as he
+answered:
+
+"In such circumstances as you suggest it is by no means easy to predict
+what course a man would take.  If Monkton had got into some entanglement
+that, to put it bluntly--although, mind you, I don't believe such a
+thing occurred--reflected some doubt either on his character or on his
+intelligence, it is just as likely as not that his old friend would be
+the last person to whom he would care to expose himself.  He would be
+equally likely to go to a stranger."
+
+Wingate was fain to admit the force of the argument.
+
+"One can never be sure of any man, even if you have known him all your
+life," he added, as they shook hands.  "Nobody knows that better than
+our profession.  But I would stake my existence that there were no
+skeletons in Monkton's cupboard.  The man was as straight as a die, and
+he was passionately attached to his beautiful wife.  Well, Mr Wingate,
+give my best regards to dear Miss Sheila.  I will send those boxes round
+to-day."
+
+He was as good as his word.  Late in the afternoon they arrived, and
+Sheila at once set to work reading the various papers, not, it must be
+confessed, in a very hopeful spirit.
+
+But when Wingate came round in the evening he found her in a state of
+greatest excitement.
+
+She took from an envelope a letter containing only a few words and
+passed it to him.  "Read that, and tell me what you make of it," she
+said.  "There is no formal beginning, and no signature.  But you see it
+is addressed to my father, and was evidently delivered by hand."
+
+Upon the flap of the faded envelope Wingate saw some initials, two C's
+in a cipher scroll embossed in black, an old-fashioned monogram such as
+was in vogue in the early "sixties."
+
+Then he read upon the half-sheet of notepaper, traced in a bold hand in
+ink that was brown, as follows:
+
+  "You have ruined and disgraced me, and forced me to fly the country
+  and become a wanderer on the face of the earth.  Well, I will be even
+  with you.  I will wait, if necessary all my life, till my turn comes.
+  Then, when it does, I will strike you at the zenith of your career,
+  and mete out to you the suffering you have dealt to me."
+
+CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
+
+IN WHICH SMEATON MAKES A DISCOVERY.
+
+Wingate laid down the letter and looked at Sheila, who was regarding him
+expectantly.
+
+"What do you make of it?" she repeated.
+
+"It is evident that he had an enemy, and a very bitter one," answered
+her lover.  "The sentences are deliberate, but they appear to have been
+written by a man who was in a white heat of passion when he penned
+them."
+
+"Smeaton ought to see that letter, without loss of time, dear," she
+said.
+
+"I quite agree.  His trained intelligence may get more out of it than we
+can.  I will make an appointment with him for to-morrow morning, and I
+will be here when he comes."
+
+Smeaton arrived next morning, hoping that at last he might discover a
+substantial clue.  He read the brief note carefully and deliberately.
+
+"Is it important, do you think?" inquired Sheila eagerly.
+
+"In my opinion it is of very considerable importance.  Miss Monkton," he
+replied.  "I think it will help us."
+
+"It certainly proves that he had a secret enemy," interjected Wingate,
+"and one who would hesitate at nothing that would secure him revenge."
+
+"I quite agree, sir.  The letter breathes the most intense hatred in
+every line.  The motive of that hatred we have got to discover."
+
+Then the detective, turning to Sheila, said: "Now, Miss Monkton, there
+is a little information that I am sure you will be able to give us.  I
+am not so well posted in your father's biography as I ought to be.  But,
+before he became a prominent politician, I understand that he was a
+barrister with an extensive and lucrative practice."
+
+"That is so," corroborated Sheila.  "He did not often talk about those
+times, but I have always understood that he made quite a big income at
+the Bar."
+
+"And when did he retire from his profession?"
+
+"About fifteen years ago."
+
+"And he resolved to say good-bye to the Bar and devote himself entirely
+to politics?"
+
+Sheila nodded.  "That is quite true.  He had a very firm opinion that a
+man could not serve two masters."
+
+"Was he on the Chancery or the Common Law side?" was Smeaton's next
+question.
+
+"On the Common Law," replied Sheila.  "But why do you ask that
+question?"
+
+"You shall know in good time.  Miss Monkton.  Well, we may take it,
+then, that this vindictive letter was written more than fifteen years
+ago."
+
+"While he was still at the Bar," interrupted Wingate, who was beginning
+to realise the point of the detective's reasoning.  "You are assuming
+that this venomous epistle did not come from a political enemy."
+
+"It is an assumption for which I have reasonable grounds," was Smeaton's
+answer.  "There has been no bitterness in party politics ever since Mr
+Monkton became a conspicuous figure in the House.  And we know that,
+while he was most popular with his own side, he was respected and liked
+by his political opponents."
+
+"Is it too much to ask you to give us the benefit of any theory you have
+formed, Mr Smeaton?" suggested Sheila, in her pretty, gracious way.
+
+"With all the pleasure in life, my dear young lady.  This letter goes
+back, in my opinion, to your father's barrister days, when he was one of
+the foremost counsel in England.  I asked you just now whether he was on
+the Equity or the Common Law side, and you wondered why I asked the
+question."
+
+"I am still wondering," said Sheila simply.
+
+"On the Equity side they try all sorts of cases concerned with points of
+law, the majority of them of a very dry and uninteresting character.  I
+should not look in an Equity case for a defeated litigant who would turn
+into a vindictive enemy of the type of the writer of this letter."
+
+The young people began to see, as yet very dimly, whither he was leading
+them.
+
+"On the Common Law side, on the contrary, we are brought into the world
+of human passion and emotion; one in which the issues of life or death
+are at stake.  We will suppose that your father, in the plenitude of his
+powers, is retained as counsel against some adroit rogue, some swindling
+company promoter, for example, who up to that moment had managed to keep
+himself well on the right side of the law."
+
+They began to see light, and listened with the closest attention.
+
+"We will say this swindler, a more than usually clever rascal, is living
+in luxury with his ill-gotten gains, when he makes a slip that brings
+him within reach of the long arm of justice.  One of his victims (or
+perhaps several in combination) brings an action against him for the
+return of the money he has inveigled out of him by his lying
+prospectuses.  He employs big counsel to defend him, but your father
+wins his case.  The wealthy rogue is forced to disgorge, finds his
+occupation gone, and is reduced to penury."
+
+Sheila nodded to show that she was following his argument.
+
+"I am assuming for a moment that it is a civil action, and that it
+disclosed sufficient evidence to justify his arrest on a criminal charge
+later on.  I deduce that from the fact that he was not a convicted felon
+at the time of writing that letter, otherwise he would not have been
+able to write and send it to your father.  The meaning of the words
+`forced me to fly the country' indicate, in my opinion, that he was in
+hourly fear of arrest."
+
+"It seems a very feasible theory," remarked Wingate.
+
+"The rest is easy to understand.  He nourishes a morbid hatred for the
+man who has been the means of menacing his liberty, and driving him from
+the society he polluted.  He regards him as a personal enemy, not merely
+the instrument of the justice he has defied.  While smarting under this,
+to his distorted ideas, sense of wrong, he pens the letter and has it
+conveyed to your father by some trusted confederate.  As there is no
+stamp or postmark on it, it was conveyed by hand."
+
+Wingate looked at Sheila, and she returned his glance.  They were both
+greatly impressed by the detective's clear reasoning.
+
+Smeaton took up the half-sheet of notepaper, and submitted it to a close
+observation.
+
+"The man who wrote it is, I should judge, a keen business man of
+methodical habits, inclined to neatness, of a strong but not impulsive
+character.  An impulsive man would have torn the sheet across, leaving a
+rough and jagged edge.  It has been pressed down with the finger and
+thumb, and then carefully cut."
+
+He held the small sheet up to the light, and made further observations.
+
+"A peculiar paper, peculiar, I mean, as to the texture.  The watermark,
+in its entirety, is, fortunately for us, on this half-sheet.  That
+enables us to trace where it comes from.  Come here for a moment and
+stand beside me."
+
+They did so, followed his pointing finger, and saw a shield bearing a
+coat-of-arms, and beneath, the words: "Westford Mill."
+
+"That will help you," cried Sheila eagerly.
+
+"I hope so.  It is, as I said, a paper of peculiar texture, and
+doubtless many tons of it have been sold.  If, as I guess, it is now off
+the market, I shall be compelled to fix a date.  If I do that, it would
+considerably narrow the field of my inquiries."
+
+After a little further conversation, Smeaton took his leave with the
+letter in his possession.  Sheila and Wingate, when they were alone,
+indulged in mutual admiration of his powers of analysis and deduction.
+
+The detective, an hour later, looked in upon Mr Newsom-Perry, with whom
+he was slightly acquainted, and handed him the document.
+
+"We found this amongst the papers you sent to Miss Monkton," he
+explained.  "I called on the chance of finding that your client had
+spoken to you, at one time or another, of some man who sent him a
+threatening letter.  I may say that we have found no allusion to it
+amongst the other papers."
+
+"Which seems to show that Monkton did not attach any importance to it
+himself, I should say," remarked the solicitor.  "No, so far as I am
+concerned he never alluded to the matter.  You attach some importance to
+it--eh?"
+
+"Some," replied Smeaton guardedly.
+
+"Of course, you have a wider experience of these things than I, and you
+are wise to neglect no possible clue.  Still, I should think that any
+big counsel in extensive practice has many letters of this kind from
+impulsive and angry litigants, who regard him as the author of their
+ruin."
+
+Smeaton rose.  "It may be so," he said quietly.  "This man was angry,
+but he was not impulsive; the handwriting alone proves that.  He wrote
+the letter at white heat, but he is of a resolute and determined
+character."
+
+Even though the writer of the anonymous threat had overlooked the fact
+that a watermark was on the paper, the latter point was not half so easy
+to clear up as Sheila and Wingate expected.
+
+To the chief firms of paper makers and paper agents in the City Smeaton,
+through the following days, showed a tracing of the watermark, but
+without result.
+
+Nobody could identify it.
+
+The managing director of one firm of paper agents in Queen Victoria
+Street declared it to be a foreign paper, even though it was marked
+"Westford Mill."
+
+"The vogue for English notepaper on the Continent has led French and
+German mills to produce so-called `English writing paper'," he added.
+"And if I am not mistaken this is a specimen."
+
+For nearly a week Smeaton prosecuted his inquiries of stationers,
+wholesale and retail, in all parts of the metropolis, taking with him
+always the tracing of the watermark.  He did not carry the letter, for
+obvious reasons.
+
+One day at a small retail stationer's in the Tottenham Court Road, when
+he showed the tracing to the elderly shopkeeper, the man exclaimed:
+
+"Oh, yes!  I've seen that before.  It's foreign.  When I was an
+assistant at Grimmel and Grice's in Bond Street, Mr Grice bought a
+quantity of it from Paris because of its unusual colour and texture.  It
+was quite in vogue for a time, and it could only be obtained from us."
+
+"Then all of this particular paper came from Grimmel and Grice's?"
+
+"Certainly, sir, I recollect the `Westford Mill' well.  We supplied it
+to half the aristocracy of London."
+
+Smeaton, much pleased with his discovery, took a taxi to Bond Street,
+and entering the fashionable stationers' addressed himself to the first
+person he saw, a young man of about twenty-five.
+
+"Do you make this paper nowadays?" he asked.
+
+The shopman examined it, and shook his head.  "No, sir, that paper has
+not been sold here since I've been in the business."
+
+"And how long would that be?"
+
+"A matter of six years or so."
+
+"I am anxious to make some further inquiries," said Smeaton, after a
+moment's pause.  "Who is the oldest assistant in the shop?"
+
+"Mr Morgan, sir.  He's been with Grimmel and Grice a matter of nearly
+fifty years, man and boy.  He's on the other side.  I will take you to
+him."
+
+Smeaton was introduced to the veteran Mr Morgan, an alert-looking man,
+in spite of his years.  Smeaton explained his name and errand, adding
+that he was from Scotland Yard.  Morgan at once became interested.  He
+looked at the watermark.
+
+"I remember that paper well," he said at length.  "It had a tremendous
+vogue for a little time; we couldn't get it over from Paris fast enough.
+Then it went as suddenly out of fashion."
+
+"I suppose you can't help me with any dates?"
+
+"Oh, but indeed I can, Mr Smeaton.  I have a wonderful memory for
+everything connected with the business.  Old Mr Grice used to say that
+my memory was as good as the firm's books.  The paper started just
+twenty-five years ago, and it ran for five years.  After that, no more
+was made."
+
+Smeaton expressed his gratitude.  Mr Morgan's excellent memory would
+shorten his labours considerably.
+
+"Can you give me any clue to these letters on the envelope, I wonder?"
+
+But here Mr Morgan was at fault.  "We supplied hundreds upon hundreds
+of customers at the time.  And all our old ledgers were burnt in our
+fire fifteen years ago.  But I think I recognise the workmanship of the
+cipher.  I should say that stamp was cut by Millingtons in Clerkenwell
+Road.  They made a speciality of that kind of thing years ago.  If you
+go there, they may have some record.  They're new people there now; old
+Mr Millington is my senior by ten years or more.  He sold the business
+about fifteen years ago.  But he is still alive, and lives somewhere in
+the Camberwell direction."
+
+Smeaton entered the address in his notebook, and shook Mr Morgan
+cordially by the hand.  He would go to the Clerkenwell Road, and, if
+necessary, hunt up the ancient Mr Millington.  If he possessed as good
+a memory as his friend some very useful information might be gathered.
+
+CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
+
+WHO WAS MONKTON'S ENEMY?
+
+At the dingy little shop in Clerkenwell Smeaton received a check.  The
+proprietor was out, and a stupid-looking youth who was in charge could
+give no information.  He turned the envelope listlessly in his fingers,
+handed it back to the detective, and suggested that he should call later
+in the day, when his master would be in.
+
+The business bore the appearance of decay, Smeaton thought, and if the
+master should prove no more intelligent than his assistant, it would
+only be a waste of time to question him.
+
+Subsequently he called and saw the head of the declining firm, and from
+him learnt that the last he had heard of old Mr Millington was that he
+was living in New Church Road, Camberwell.
+
+He at once took a taxi there, but on arrival was sadly disappointed to
+see that the house was to let, and that inquiries were to be made of a
+firm of house-agents.
+
+He was soon at their office, and here he found an intelligent clerk, to
+whom he explained that he wished to make a few inquiries.
+
+"I seem to remember the name," said the clerk at length.  "I believe he
+was the tenant when I first came into this business; a nice, quiet old
+man, who paid his rent on the day.  The house has been let to two people
+since then."
+
+"Do you know where Millington went when he left?"
+
+But the clerk's mind was a blank on the subject.  A bright idea,
+however, struck him, which, in a moment, would have occurred to Smeaton.
+
+"Look here, sir.  Why don't you go and see the landlord, Mr Clarke?
+His house is in the Camberwell Road, only five minutes' walk from here."
+
+The detective thanked him, and armed with the address set forth on a
+fresh pilgrimage.  In a few moments he was interviewing the landlord, a
+retired builder who had invested his savings in small property.
+
+"Pleased to give you any help I can," he said heartily, when the
+detective had explained the object of his visit.  "I remember Millington
+well; very decent old chap he was too; paid his rent punctually.  He
+moved away some years ago.  I don't know where he went.  But I don't
+think it matters much.  I heard about twelve months ago that the old man
+was dead."
+
+Smeaton's face clouded.  So all his inquiries had been waste of time.
+Millington would never throw any light upon the anonymous and
+threatening letter.
+
+He went back to Bond Street and saw Mr Morgan.
+
+"I am told that Mr Millington is dead," he said to him.  "I suppose you
+had not heard of it?"
+
+Morgan looked surprised.  "When did he die, sir?"
+
+"My informant told me he heard of it about a year ago."
+
+"A mistake, sir, a mistake, somebody of the same name," cried Mr
+Morgan.  "Two months ago I met him in the Strand, and we chatted for a
+few seconds.  We didn't say much to each other for I was in a hurry to
+get back to the shop."
+
+"He never mentioned to you that he had left Camberwell?"
+
+"No; as he said nothing about it I took it for granted that he was still
+there.  But I don't suppose we exchanged a couple of dozen words
+altogether.  I remember I told him he was looking as well as ever, and
+he laughed, and said he came of a long-lived family."
+
+Smeaton breathed again.  An hour later he was back again at Camberwell,
+on the track of the retired engraver.
+
+A man cannot move a houseful of furniture without leaving some traces.
+After visits to half-a-dozen moving establishments, he hit upon the
+right one in the Walworth Road.  The proprietor referred to his books,
+and gave Smeaton the information he wanted.  The goods had been taken
+down by road to Beech Cottage, Lower Halliford, a little village in the
+Thames Valley.
+
+So far, so good.  Unless he had been seized with another desire for
+change, Millington would be found at Beech Cottage, Lower Halliford.
+
+It was too late to pursue the affair further that day.  Smeaton would
+run down the next morning.  Millington was an old man; his wits would
+probably be brighter in the early hours.
+
+The morning found him knocking at the door of Beech Cottage, a pretty
+little cottage overhung with climbing roses, facing the river.  The door
+was opened by a stout, pleasant-faced woman, whom he at once discovered
+to be Millington's niece and housekeeper.
+
+"My uncle is not very well this morning," she told him; "he suffers a
+good deal from asthma.  But if you'll come into the parlour, I'll take
+your card in.  He likes to see people when he can, for it's terribly
+dull down here."
+
+A moment later she reappeared.  "My uncle will be glad to see you, sir.
+I was afraid he was a bit too poorly, but a visitor brightens him up at
+once.  Please step this way."
+
+Mr Millington was seated in a small room overlooking a somewhat rough
+and uncultivated piece of garden at the back.  He was a bright-looking
+old man, of small stature, with a wonderfully pink complexion, and small
+twinkling eyes.  He was dressed in a nondescript sort of attire, a long
+frock-coat, a skullcap, and a pair of carpet slippers.
+
+"Sit down, sir, please," he said, in a voice that was cordial, if a
+trifle wheezy.  "I see by your card you are from Scotland Yard--eh?
+What can I do for you?"
+
+Smeaton went to the point at once.
+
+"I heard of you from Morgan, of Grimmel and Grice.  I went there to make
+a few inquiries, and he recommended me to you."
+
+Mr Millington nodded his head.
+
+"A very good fellow, Morgan; he always put as much business in my way as
+he could."
+
+"He directed me to you," Smeaton said, and he pulled out the envelope
+and handed it to Millington.  "This kind of cipher Mr Morgan tells me
+was in great vogue between twenty and twenty-five years ago.  He thinks
+that you cut it.  Will you kindly examine it, and tell me if you
+recognise it as your handiwork?"
+
+The answer came readily: "It's mine, sure enough."
+
+"Good.  The envelope itself is quite an ordinary one, as you see.  Now,
+can you carry your mind back, and give me any particulars of the
+transaction?  Can you tell for whom those letters were cut, and what
+they stand for?"
+
+Mr Millington put his hand to his forehead.  "Let me think a moment,"
+he said in the quavering voice of old age.  "Let me think for a moment,
+and something will come back to me.  At my time of life it's a good way
+to go back."
+
+Smeaton waited in silence for some little time, and then it seemed the
+old man had struck some chord of memory.
+
+Suddenly he sat upright in his easy-chair, and his eyes sparkled.  "It
+is coming back by degrees," he said in his thin, husky voice; "it is
+coming back."
+
+There was another pause, in which it seemed he was trying to arrange his
+ideas clearly.  Then he spoke slowly but distinctly.
+
+"I remember I had a lot of trouble over the job.  The order was first
+given to some stationers in the City, but the gentleman was so fussy and
+confused in his instructions that they sent him down straight to me.  I
+thought I understood what he wanted, but I had to engrave it three times
+before he was satisfied.  That's why I happen to remember it so well."
+
+"Now, do you remember, or did you ever know, the name of this fussy
+person who was so hard to please?"
+
+"I ought to remember it," said Millington plaintively.  "It was not an
+uncommon name either; I should recall it in a moment if I heard it.  But
+it has escaped me."
+
+Smeaton's face clouded.  "That's unfortunate, but it may come back to
+you presently.  Proper names are the hardest things to remember as we
+get on in life."
+
+Millington struggled for a little time longer with the ebbing tide of
+reminiscence, but to no purpose.
+
+Smeaton went on another tack.
+
+"Did you bring away from your business any documents or memoranda that
+would throw light upon this particular transaction?"
+
+The old man reflected for a little while.
+
+"I'm afraid I was a very poor man of business, sir," he said at length.
+"I made rough notes from time to time as I received and executed orders,
+but that was all.  I trusted to my memory, which in those days was a
+good one."
+
+"Have you any of those old note-books left?"
+
+"Yes, I've got some of them upstairs in a couple of boxes which have
+never been opened since I left the Clerkenwell Road.  Would you like me
+to run through them?  It would only mean half-a-day's work, or less."
+
+"I should be infinitely obliged if you would, Mr Millington.  I will
+run down here about the same time to-morrow morning.  Just one thing
+more before I go.  Were you acquainted with your customer's handwriting?
+Did you ever receive any letters from him?"
+
+"He wrote me several times with regard to the work I did for him, but I
+shouldn't be able to recognise his hand, even if I saw it."
+
+Smeaton left, very much chagrined at the result of his visit.
+
+Next morning he, however, presented himself at Beech Cottage.
+Millington received him with an apologetic air.  He explained that he
+had searched his note-books diligently, but he could find nothing that
+referred to the cipher letters, the two C's entwined, or the man who had
+ordered them.
+
+"I've a notion," he said, when he had finished his rather rambling
+statement, "that the gentleman who gave the order came from Manchester
+or Liverpool.  But there I may be mixing it up with something else."
+
+And Smeaton left, knowing that nothing more could be got out of him.
+The identity of the writer of the threatening letter had yet to be
+discovered.
+
+Another point had suddenly occurred to him.  Was the man who had had the
+cipher engraved the actual writer of the letter?  And the greatest point
+of all was the whereabouts of the Stolen Statesman: was he dead, or was
+he still living?
+
+Smeaton ascended in the lift to his room at Scotland Yard, where a
+surprise awaited him, in the shape of a telegram from Varney, handed in
+at a village five miles from Horsham, in Sussex, three hours before.  It
+read:
+
+"Come down here at once.  Something unexpected.--Varney."
+
+CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
+
+THE ROOM OF SECRETS.
+
+Smeaton at once hunted up the time-table.  There was a fast train to
+Horsham in twenty minutes and he could just catch it.
+
+He ordered a telegram to be despatched to Varney at the inn which he had
+given as a rendezvous, stating the time at which he would arrive, and
+later found the young man at the door, awaiting him.
+
+"Thought I had better stop here till you arrived," he said as they shook
+hands, "otherwise I would have come to Horsham Station.  But the Forest
+View people know me now, and I didn't want one of them to see me talking
+to a stranger.  They might put two and two together."
+
+The two men ordered some refreshment, and adjourned to the snug little
+parlour, which was empty.
+
+"No fear of being disturbed here, Smeaton, at this time of day; I know
+the place well.  There will be nobody near for hours, except a passing
+carter for a glass of beer, and he won't disturb us."
+
+"I was glad to have your wire," said the detective, "for I was beginning
+to get a bit anxious.  For several hours now I have been on the track of
+what I thought was a warm scent, only to find it a cold one.  I'll tell
+you about it when you have had your say."
+
+Varney plunged at once into his narrative.  And certainly the story he
+had to tell was a very thrilling one.  The main points were these.
+
+Having been in the neighbourhood for some time, and being of a
+gregarious disposition, he had picked up a few acquaintances, with whom
+he indulged in an occasional chat when the opportunity offered.
+
+All these people, he was sure, accepted his own explanation of his
+presence there, and did not for a moment suspect in the _soi-disant_
+artist who rambled about with his sketching materials the young
+journalist so well-known in Fleet Street.
+
+He had become acquainted with a local doctor, Mr Janson, a man a few
+years older than himself, who had bought a practice in the neighbourhood
+quite recently.  They had met, in the first instance, at the inn where
+Varney was staying, the doctor having been called in by the landlady to
+prescribe for some trifling ailment from which she was suffering.
+
+The two men had exchanged a few commonplace remarks, and bidden each
+other good-bye.  Next day Varney overtook him on the road, and they
+walked into Horsham together.  In the course of their journey a little
+personal history was exchanged, of course utterly fictitious on the side
+of the pretended artist.
+
+From the casual conversation there emerged certain facts.  Mr Janson
+was a man of considerable culture, and of strong artistic leanings.
+More especially was he an ardent worshipper of the Old Masters.  For
+several years his annual holiday had been spent in Italy, for which
+country, its galleries, and its associations he expressed the most
+fervent admiration.
+
+Varney, little knowing what was to come out of this chance acquaintance,
+soon established common grounds of interest.  His mother had been an
+Italian, and he had spent ten years of his boyhood in that delightful
+land.  He could speak the language like a native.  Janson, who was a
+poor linguist, expressed his envy of the other's accomplishment.
+
+"I can read any Italian book you put before me, and I can make them
+understand what I want," he had told Varney.  "But when they talk to me,
+I am lost.  I can't catch the words, because the accent baffles me.  If
+an Englishman were to talk Italian, I daresay I could follow him."
+
+They met several times afterwards, and the acquaintance ripened to such
+an extent that the doctor asked the young stranger to come round to his
+house, after the day's round was over, for a chat and a smoke.  Janson
+was a bachelor; he had only been a few months in the neighbourhood, and
+had not as yet made many friends.
+
+A man who knew a good deal about the subject which interested him most,
+and could talk fairly well on art--for Varney was a connoisseur of no
+mean order--was a godsend to the man of medicine, sitting by himself in
+his lonely house.
+
+All this was the prelude to the startling facts which were the cause of
+Varney's urgent telegram.
+
+The previous morning just before his dinner hour, the gardener had
+looked in at the inn for his morning glass of beer, and informed the
+landlord that a visitor was expected at Forest View.
+
+"Mr Strange comes to me after breakfast, and tells me to take in a
+picking of some special peas we planted, for lunch.  He ain't much of a
+one to talk at the best of times, but he was quite affable and chatty
+this morning.  He tells me he is expecting a foreign gentleman who's
+very particular about his food, and he wants to show him what we can
+do."
+
+This piece of news was retailed to Varney, who was, of course,
+immediately interested.  According to local report, this was only the
+second occasion on which Forest View had received a visitor.
+
+He kept a hidden watch on the house.  A few minutes past twelve.
+Strange, to give him the name he was known by down there, drove his
+motor-car in the direction of Horsham.  Evidently he was going to meet
+the visitor at the station.
+
+In due course the car came back with its two occupants.  The stranger
+was a man of small stature, with grey moustache and beard, of a dark
+complexion, and unmistakably a foreigner.
+
+They dismounted at the gate, the garage being approached by an entrance
+a little lower down.  Varney noticed that the foreigner got out very
+slowly, leaning heavily on his host's arm as he did so.  It was plain
+that this visitor, like the other, was in indifferent health.
+
+Varney hung about during the greater part of the day, but he saw nobody.
+All the inmates of this singular establishment seemed to prefer the
+seclusion of the house.
+
+After the inn had closed, he smoked a last pipe, and then went to bed.
+He was rather wakeful that night, and did not go to sleep for an hour or
+so.
+
+Suddenly he was awakened by a loud knocking.  Jumping up, he looked at
+his watch--it was two o'clock.  He was evidently the first to hear it,
+for he could distinguish no sounds from the room at the other end of the
+passage, where the landlord and his wife slept.
+
+He flung up his window and called out: "Hullo!  Who's that?"
+
+He was answered by the familiar voice of Janson.
+
+"Sorry to disturb you like this, Mr Franks," cried the doctor,
+addressing him by his assumed name.  "But I want your help.  A foreign
+gentleman, an Italian, arrived at Forest View this morning, and he was
+taken alarmingly ill about half-an-hour ago.  The poor chap's hours are
+numbered.  I have been trying to talk to him in his own language; he
+seems to understand me all right, but I can hardly follow a sentence of
+his, and there's nobody in the house who understands him either."
+
+The incongruity of the situation forced itself upon Varney immediately.
+"What in the world makes a man come to a house where he can understand
+nobody, and nobody can understand him," he whispered down.
+
+"The same thought occurred to me," came the answering whisper.  "Mr
+Strange explained it.  He said that their parlourmaid understood Italian
+perfectly, having lived in Italy for some years.  She had gone up to
+London early yesterday morning and would not be back till late
+to-morrow."
+
+It flashed instantly across Varney's mind that his suspicions about the
+young woman were correct: that she belonged to a different class from
+that which furnishes parlourmaids.  She was a lady masquerading as a
+servant.  Strange's fiction of her having lived abroad was invented to
+keep up appearances.
+
+"He is very rambling, but I ran gather this much," went on Janson in low
+tones.  "He wants to leave some instructions before he dies.  I thought
+of you at once."
+
+"Right; I will be with you in a couple of minutes."
+
+By this time the landlord and his wife were awake, and he heard the
+man's heavy footsteps along the passage.  He opened his door, and
+briefly explained the situation.
+
+In a very short time he and the doctor were in the bedroom of the dying
+man.  Strange was at the bedside, looking intently at the prostrate
+figure, without a trace of emotion in his sharp, inscrutable features.
+He withdrew a little distance as Janson approached, and murmured
+something in a low voice to the other.  It was an apology for disturbing
+him.
+
+The man lay motionless for some few minutes, the pallor of death
+settling deeper over the once swarthy features.  Janson turned to
+Varney.
+
+"I'm afraid it is too late, Mr Franks.  He is sinking rapidly.  If you
+could have been here when I first came."
+
+Was it fancy, or did he see an expression of relief steal across
+Strange's impenetrable mask?
+
+If so, he was doomed to disappointment.  The dying man stirred, and his
+lips moved.  Varney leaned over, and his quick ear caught some muttered
+words, growing fainter and fainter with the waning of the flickering
+strength.
+
+The words were in the bastard tongue of Piedmont, difficult to
+understand by anyone who has not lived in Northern Italy.
+
+"_Dio_!" gasped the dying man.  "Forgive me.  The doctors have long ago
+told me I should die suddenly, but--I--I never expected this.  Oh, that
+somebody here could understand me?" he whispered to himself.
+
+"I do.  Signore," said Varney, as he leaned over him.
+
+In the dying man's eyes came a gleam of satisfaction and hope.
+
+"Ah!  Thank Heaven!  Then listen," he said.  "I want you to do something
+for me--something--" and he halted as though in reflection.  "Well," he
+went on, "twenty years ago I did a great wrong in conjunction with
+another man.  Go to him and tell him that Giovanni Roselli, his old
+comrade, implores him, from his deathbed, to make reparation.  You will
+find him in Manchester.  He was the head of the Compagnia Corezzo, and
+his name is James--"
+
+The surname was never told.  As he strove to utter it, the end came.
+Giovanni Roselli had delivered his message, but he had gone into the
+shadows, before he could utter the full name of the man to whom it was
+conveyed.  Varney translated the dying man's message to Strange, but he
+made no comment.
+
+Smeaton sat in silence for a long time when the recital was finished.
+
+"A house of sinister inmates with sinister secrets," he said at length.
+"What you have told me may have a bearing upon something that has gone
+before."
+
+Briefly he narrated to Varney the discovery of the threatening letter,
+and his visit to the engraver and stationer.
+
+Varney saw at once what had occurred to him.
+
+"The Compagnia Corezzo gives us a clue--eh?--the initials `C.C.,' which
+are the initials on the envelope.  Was it an envelope from the company's
+office?  You say that the old engraver thought the man who ordered the
+cipher came from Manchester or Liverpool.  Roselli tells us we can find
+his man in Manchester?"  Smeaton rose.  "I'm in hopes that something may
+come out of it all," he said, as they shook hands.  "Anyway, stay down
+here, and keep a close watch on the place.  An inquest will be held and
+sooner or later something of importance will happen.  I've kept the taxi
+waiting; shall I give you a lift to Horsham?  But I noticed a bike
+outside the inn-door.  I suppose it is yours."  Varney nodded.  "Yes, it
+is part of my machinery.  I shall go for a good long spin, and think
+over all that has happened."
+
+As Smeaton put his foot on the step of the taxi a sudden thought struck
+him.  He turned back, and drew the young man aside.
+
+"Keep your eye on the parlourmaid especially," he whispered.  "If we
+ever get to the bottom of it, we shall find she plays an important part
+in this mystery."
+
+"I quite agree," was Varney's answer, as the two men finally parted.
+
+CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
+
+ANOTHER MYSTERY.
+
+Next day Smeaton sat in his official room, puzzling over the Monkton
+case, and sorely perplexed.
+
+He had followed several trails now, but all, it seemed, to no purpose.
+Farloe and his sister had been shadowed without any result.  The visit
+to Millington had ended in failure.
+
+Varney had discovered something, and he would follow the clue with the
+pertinacity of a bloodhound pursuing a faint and elusive scent.  But he
+himself was thoroughly disheartened.
+
+There suddenly came a tap at the door, and a constable entered.
+
+"A very old gentleman wants to see you, sir.  He says you will remember
+him," and he handed the detective a slip of paper on which was written
+"Mr Millington."
+
+"The gentleman seems to have one foot in the grave, and half of the
+other, to judge by appearances," the constable went on.  "The journey
+has tried him terribly.  He's wheezing so, that you'd think each moment
+would be his last.  I made him sit down, and he's trying to recover
+himself and get his breath."
+
+Smeaton sprang up.  It was with difficulty he could retain his official
+calm.  This plucky old man had not made the journey up to town for
+nothing.  He had remembered something, or discovered something.
+
+"That's right.  Baker," he said.  "Give him time, and when he is ready,
+show him in."
+
+It was a full five minutes before Millington was in a fit state to
+present himself.  At last he entered, still husky of voice, but with a
+beaming aspect.
+
+Smeaton greeted him cordially.  "Mr Millington, this is indeed good of
+you.  But why did you distress yourself with the journey?  If you had
+sent me a wire, I would have run down to you," he said.
+
+"I owe you some amends, sir, for my failure yesterday.  And besides, a
+little jaunt does me good."
+
+He smiled cheerfully, evidently wishing to convey that, at his time of
+life, an excursion up to London was a tonic.
+
+"Again many thanks," cried the grateful Smeaton.  "Well, you came to see
+me, because you have remembered something--or found something fresh--
+eh?"
+
+The old man spoke earnestly.
+
+"All day after you left, sir, I was wild with myself to think what a
+useless old cumber-ground I was; me that used to have such a good
+memory, too.  I thought and thought again, hoping that something would
+come back from that twenty or twenty-five years ago."
+
+"There was no need to distress yourself," said Smeaton kindly.
+
+"And then in a flash I remembered another box in which I had stuffed a
+lot of odd papers.  Well, sir, I opened that box, went over those papers
+one by one, and this is what I found."
+
+He held out in his shaking hand an old letter.  Smeaton took it from
+him.
+
+"Before you read it, Mr Smeaton, I must explain that this gentleman
+always treated me in a very friendly way.  We were both very fond of
+heraldry, and he used often to come to my shop and chat over our hobby.
+That accounts for the familiar way in which he addresses me."
+
+This is what Smeaton read:
+
+"Dear Mr Millington,--I enclose you a cheque for the last work you did
+for me, which is as satisfactory as ever.  It will be news to you that
+my company, the Compagnia Corezzo, is about to go into voluntary
+liquidation.  I have accepted the position of manager of a big firm in
+Manchester, and shall take up my new post in the course of a few weeks.
+If I can possibly find time between now and then, I shall run in to say
+good-bye.
+
+"I may have an opportunity of putting further work in your way.  If that
+opportunity arises, I shall have the greatest pleasure in availing
+myself of it.  I am afraid I shall not come across anybody who takes
+such a keen interest in my favourite hobby.--Yours truly, James Whyman."
+
+Over Smeaton's face came a glow of satisfaction.  He had got the name he
+wanted.  Was he on the right track at last?  He took the threatening
+letter out of his pocket, and compared the handwritings.
+
+But here disappointment awaited him.  They were totally dissimilar.
+Whyman wrote a small and niggling hand, the hand of a mean man.  The
+other calligraphy was large, bold and free.
+
+One thing was clear: James Whyman was not the writer of the threatening
+letter.  That letter had been put in an envelope which belonged to the
+Compagnia Corezzo.  Mr Whyman was, at that period, connected with that
+company, and the man who had given instructions for the cutting of the
+cipher.  A visit to Manchester was the next item on the programme.
+
+"It all came back to me with that letter," remarked the old man
+presently.  "I can see him standing in my shop, as if it were yesterday,
+quite a young man, not a day over thirty, I should say; very fussy, very
+precise, and always beating you down to the last farthing.  But very
+pleasant withal."
+
+He was thirty at that time; he would, then, be in the 'fifties now,
+reasoned Smeaton.  The odds therefore were that Mr James Whyman was
+still in the land of the living.
+
+"Mr Millington, you have helped me very much," said the detective, as
+the old gentleman rose to go.  "Now, in your state of health I am not
+going to allow you to fatigue yourself by catching 'buses and trains.  I
+shall get a taxi here, and it will drive you straight to Lower
+Halliford, at my expense."
+
+Poor Millington's frugal soul cried out aloud at such wanton
+expenditure, but he was overborne by Smeaton.  He departed in the
+vehicle, beaming with the sense of his own importance, and conscious
+that he was still of some use in the world.
+
+The evening of that same day found the detective at the Queen's Hotel,
+Manchester.  It was pleasant to him to find that his investigations
+produced a speedy result.  Mr Whyman was a well-known citizen, so the
+head-waiter informed him.  He had been first manager and then director
+of one of the largest businesses there.  Two years ago he had retired
+from active participation in the concern, and had, he believed, taken a
+big house at Southport.  He was a widower with two children.  The son
+had a post in Hong-Kong.  The daughter had married and was living in
+Cheshire.
+
+The waiter added that he was popular, and highly respected by all who
+knew him, perhaps a bit close-fisted, and hard at a bargain.  Since his
+retirement he was often a visitor at the Hotel.
+
+The next morning Smeaton, having found Mr Whyman's address in the
+telephone directory, rang him up.  He announced his name and profession,
+explaining that some documents had me into his possession which he would
+like to submit for inspection.  Might he take the liberty of coming over
+to Southport during the day at some hour convenient to himself?
+
+Mr Whyman's reply was given cordially and unhesitatingly.  "With
+pleasure, Mr Smeaton.  Shall we say five o'clock?  I am afraid I cannot
+make it earlier, as I have got a very full day in front of me.  I am
+retired from business in a sense, but I am still interested in a lot of
+things that require personal attention."
+
+At five o'clock to the minute Smeaton was at the fine house of Mr
+Whyman, near the end of the Esplanade at Southport, commanding a
+splendid view of the Welsh and Cumberland hills.  It was evident that
+Mr Whyman had prospered in a worldly sense.  The house was an imposing
+one.  A butler opened the door, and ushered him into the morning-room, a
+square, lofty apartment, solidly and handsomely furnished.
+
+A moment later the owner entered.  He was a tall, finely-built man, with
+regular, handsome features.
+
+Smeaton regarded him closely as they shook hands.  There was an obvious
+frankness and geniality about his manner that fully accounted, for his
+general popularity.  The face was honest, its expression open.  His eyes
+met yours unwaveringly.
+
+And yet this was the man who, according to the dead man, Giovanni
+Roselli, had been the perpetrator of a great wrong to some person or
+persons unknown.  Well, Smeaton had too vast an experience to trust
+overmuch to outside appearances.  Still, he had never seen anybody who
+looked less like a rogue than Mr James Whyman, as he stood smiling at
+him with the most cordial expression in his clear blue eyes.
+
+If he was, or had been at some period of his career, a rogue.  Nature
+had taken the greatest pains to disarm the suspicions of those on whom
+he practised his rascality.
+
+Whyman pointed to the table, on which were laid glasses, a decanter of
+whisky, soda-water, and cigars.
+
+"Let me offer you some refreshment after your journey.  You smoke?
+Good.  I think you will like those cigars.  Let me help you.  Now, sir,
+sit down, and we will get at once to the matter which brings you here."
+
+Smeaton produced the envelope, and handed it to his genial host.  "I
+think you will recognise those entwined letters, Mr Whyman.  I may tell
+you that I traced the man who cut them--a man named Millington."
+
+Whyman interrupted him in his brisk, bluff way, and there was not a
+shade of embarrassment in voice or manner:
+
+"Ah, my dear old friend Millington!  Why, he must be quite ancient by
+now, for he wasn't a chicken when I knew him."
+
+"A very old man, and his memory is treacherous.  At first he could
+remember very little.  But later on he found a letter from you which
+brought it all back to him.  I was then able to establish the two things
+I wanted: your own name, and the name of the Italian company you
+represented."
+
+Whyman turned the envelope in his hand, after having cast a glance at
+the cipher.  The candid blue eyes regarded the detective steadily as he
+spoke.
+
+"Yes, that die was cut by my instructions, certainly.  Now, in what way
+can I assist you, Mr Smeaton, beyond confirming that fact?"
+
+Smeaton passed him the threatening letter.  "There is no question the
+envelope came out of your office.  Now, do you recognise this
+handwriting?"
+
+The other man read it carefully, and then passed it back, without a
+trace of confusion.
+
+"I am certain that I have never seen that handwriting before.  How the
+envelope was obtained I cannot pretend to guess.  Hundreds of people, of
+course, were in and out of my office during the time I was with the
+company."
+
+"I presume you had several clerks in your employ?"
+
+Mr Whyman smiled.  "Quite the opposite.  It was a small and struggling
+concern, unprosperous from the start.  I only had three assistants at
+the London branch: an elderly man, and two juniors.  I should recognise
+the writing of any one of those if it were put before me."
+
+Was he speaking the truth or not?  Was he honestly puzzled as he
+appeared, or shielding the writer of that threatening epistle with his
+assumption of ignorance?  Smeaton could not be sure.  The only evidence
+he possessed as to character was that furnished by the deathbed
+revelations of Roselli, and that was unfavourable.
+
+He resolved to try a random shot.  "I think at one time you were
+acquainted with a man of the name of Giovanni Roselli, an Italian."
+
+The shot went home.  There was a flicker in the steady blue eyes, the
+voice had lost its bluff and genial ring.  He spoke hesitatingly,
+picking his words.
+
+"Ah, yes.  Many years ago I knew a fellow named Roselli, in Turin--not
+very intimately; we did a little deal in marble together on one
+occasion.  What do you know about him?"
+
+Smeaton shrugged his shoulders carelessly.  "Not much.  In our business
+we come across many little things that we have not set out to find, but
+which emerge from greater issues.  However, I did not come here to talk
+about this foreigner, but in the hope that you might be able to help me
+with that letter."
+
+When Whyman spoke again all traces of his momentary embarrassment had
+passed.
+
+"I am only too sorry that I cannot.  I should say that envelope must
+have been stolen from my office."
+
+"Very likely," said Smeaton quietly.  Then he rose to go.
+
+Whyman at once became effusively hospitable.  "I wish you would dine and
+stay the night with me.  I should be most delighted to have a good long
+chat with you, especially if you could tell me some of your experiences
+which are no longer secrets.  To-morrow, perhaps, I could take you for a
+spin in the country in my car."
+
+Smeaton hesitated.  Why did this man, whom he suspected of being a rogue
+under all this genial veneer, suddenly develop such a partiality for the
+society of an utter stranger?  Did he want to pump him as to what he
+knew concerning Roselli, whom of course, he did not know was dead?
+
+He decided he would stay.  If it came to pumping, Smeaton flattered
+himself he would prove the better of the two at that particular game.
+He might even make Whyman betray himself in an unguarded moment.
+
+They spent quite a pleasant time together.  Smeaton was shown over the
+house and grounds.  The dinner was good, the wines and cigars excellent.
+The detective entertained his host with reminiscences of work at "the
+Yard" that involved no indiscretion.  They sat up chatting till past
+midnight.  But the name of Roselli was not mentioned again on either
+side.
+
+"Good-night, Mr Smeaton, good-night.  I have enjoyed your company
+immensely.  Breakfast at half-past nine--eh?"
+
+He might be a rogue at bottom, and his wealth might not have been
+acquired honestly, but he was a very pleasant one.  And as a host he was
+beyond reproach.
+
+When Smeaton entered the dining-room the next morning, the butler was
+waiting for him with a letter in his hand.
+
+"Mr Whyman was called away early this morning, sir.  He has left this
+note for you."
+
+"Dear Mr Smeaton," ran the brief epistle.  "A thousand apologies for
+treating you in this discourteous fashion.  I received a letter just now
+calling me abroad on urgent business that brooks no delay.  I may be
+absent some few weeks.  Trusting we shall meet again--Yours sincerely,
+James Whyman."
+
+Smeaton was too accustomed to surprises to exhibit any emotion.  He sat
+down and ate an ample breakfast, and cogitated over the sudden departure
+of his host.
+
+The one obvious fact was that Whyman had flown.  He need not waste time
+over that.  The important thing remained: what was the reason of his
+hurried flight?
+
+Before he left the room Smeaton crossed over to a writing-desk in the
+window, and peered into the waste-paper basket at the side.  A forlorn
+hope--it was empty.  A torn-up envelope might have revealed the
+postmark.
+
+But Mr Whyman was evidently too old a bird to leave anything behind him
+that would enlighten one of the keenest detectives in England.
+
+CHAPTER NINETEEN.
+
+STILL ANOTHER CLUB.
+
+"Now that we are alone, sir, permit me to present myself in proper form.
+My name is Caleb Boyle, profession gentleman, educated at that glorious
+old school, Winchester, and graduate of Trinity College.  Cambridge."
+
+Mr Boyle made a low bow as he completed his self-introduction, which
+took place in Smeaton's room at Scotland Yard.  He was full of gesture,
+employing a pantomime of arms, hands and face to accentuate his remarks.
+
+Smeaton bowed, pointed to a chair, and examined him with minute
+attention.  He was a tall, angular man, thin almost to emaciation.
+Judging by his figure, you might have put him at forty, but the lines on
+his face suggested another ten or fifteen years.
+
+"I intended no discourtesy to you personally when I declined to give my
+card to your satellites or subordinates, or whatever name you give to
+the hangers-on of a great man."
+
+Here the fluent Mr Boyle made another of his grotesque bows to lend
+point to the compliment, and again Smeaton inclined his head politely.
+He had not as yet quite taken his bearings with regard to this
+extraordinary creature.
+
+"To such persons, Mr Smeaton, I do not take the trouble to reveal my
+identity; it would be a waste of time.  It is my invariable practice to
+go straight to the fountain-head when I have anything of importance to
+communicate."  Here Mr Boyle swelled out his chest, and said in a voice
+of intense conviction: "I have no toleration for whipper-snappers, and
+those, sir, are what one finds, spreading like a fungus, in every
+department of our public life."
+
+It seemed to the police official's well-balanced mind that his visitor
+was a pompous ass, with a slight suspicion of insanity thrown in.  He
+was not a man to suffer fools gladly, but this particular fool had
+called on him for some purpose, and he must exercise patience till the
+purpose was revealed.
+
+He must bear with him and coax him.  For he felt intuitively that Boyle
+was one of those men who take a long time in coming to the point.
+
+"We are always happy to receive information here," he said courteously.
+"You will understand that I am a very busy man."
+
+If he thought such a direct hint would arrest the flow of his visitor's
+fatal fluency, he was grievously mistaken.  Boyle raised an arresting
+hand, and indulged in some more contortions of arms and hands.
+
+"I recognise the fact, sir, I fully recognise it.  A man in your
+responsible position must find the working hours all too short for what
+you have to do.  You bear upon your shoulders, capable as they are, the
+weight of Atlas, if I may say so."
+
+Smeaton had to smile, in spite of himself, at the fanciful imagery.
+"Not quite so bad as that, Mr Boyle.  But a lot has to be got into a
+limited time, and therefore--"
+
+But his sentence was not allowed to finish.  "Say no more, sir, on that
+head.  I can understand that the time of a valuable official is not to
+be wasted; in short, that you wish me to come to the point."
+
+Smeaton nodded his head vigorously.  Perhaps there was some remnant of
+common-sense in the creature after all.
+
+Mr Boyle gracefully threw one leg over the other, bestowed upon the
+detective an affable but somewhat mechanical smile, and resumed his
+discourse.
+
+"Before coming to the reason of my visit, I must trouble you with a few
+details of my family history, in order that you may know something of
+the person you are dealing with.  I promise you I shall not be prolix."
+
+Smeaton groaned inwardly, but he knew he was helpless.  As well try to
+stop a cataract in full flood as arrest the resistless flow of Mr
+Boyle's glib fluency.
+
+"I may tell you I am something of an athlete.  I played two years in the
+Winchester Eleven.  I rowed in my College boat.  If I had stopped on a
+year longer I should have rowed for the `Varsity.'"
+
+He paused, probably to ascertain the effect produced upon his listener
+by these deeds of prowess.  Smeaton exhorted him to proceed, in a faint
+voice.
+
+"Enough of those early days, when the youthful blood ran in one's veins
+like some potent wine.  Manhood succeeded the school and college days.
+I am telling you all this because, as you will perceive presently, it
+has some bearing upon my visit to you."
+
+He paused again, to mark the effect of his glowing periods.  And again
+Smeaton, in a voice grown fainter, bade him get on with his story.
+
+Suddenly the weird visitor rose, stretched himself to his full height,
+and with a dramatic gesture pointed a long, lean finger at the harassed
+detective.  His voice rose and fell with the fervour of his pent-up
+feelings.
+
+"The man you look upon to-day is only the shadow of what he was in his
+early prime.  The name of Caleb Boyle was well-known about town, in the
+busy haunts of men.  I have sat at great men's tables, I have partaken
+of delicate fare, I have quaffed rare wines, fair ladies have favoured
+me with their smiles."
+
+He paused for a moment, dropped the pointing hand, and sat down again on
+his chair, seemingly overcome with his own rhetoric.  Smeaton regarded
+him steadily, uncertain as to what new form his eccentricity would take,
+but spoke no word.
+
+In a few seconds he had recovered himself, and smiled wanly at his
+companion.
+
+"Enough of that.  You are a man of vast experience, and you have seen
+men and cities.  But I bet you would never guess that not so many years
+ago I was one of the young bloods of this town, one of what our
+neighbours across the Channel call the _jeunesse doree_."
+
+And at last Smeaton was moved to speech.  He looked at the well-cut but
+worn clothes; he remembered Winchester and Cambridge; he recognised the
+flamboyant and ill-controlled temperament.  He drew his deductions
+swiftly.
+
+"You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth," he said bluntly; "you
+had every advantage that birth and education could give you.  Through
+some fatal tendency, perhaps inherited, you threw away all your chances,
+and are living on your memories--and very little else."
+
+So far from being offended with this plain exposition of facts, Mr
+Boyle smiled affably, and, leaning forward, patted the detective
+approvingly on the shoulder.
+
+"You're a man after my own heart, sir; you go to the very marrow of
+things.  You have hit it off correctly.  But mark you, I regret nothing;
+I would alter nothing if the time came over again.  I have lived, sir:
+warmed both hands at the fire of life; filled the cup of enjoyment to
+the brim.  Nothing has daunted me, nothing ever will daunt me.  Old as I
+am, derelict as I may be, I still look the world in the face, and, in
+the words of the poet, `Stand four-square to all the winds that blow.'"
+
+Smeaton stirred uncomfortably.  Was the man simply an original kind of
+beggar, and was all this the preface to a request for a modest loan?  He
+had assurance enough for anything!
+
+"Mr Boyle, my time is really very much occupied.  May I beg you to come
+to the point, and state the object of your visit?  These personal
+reminiscences and reflections are, of course, highly interesting, but--"
+He made an eloquent pause.
+
+"I have transgressed, I have abused your patience," observed this
+singular man, in a voice of contrition; "I came to ask you a simple
+question, and here it is, plain, straight, and put as briefly as
+possible: _What is at the bottom of Reginald Monkton's disappearance_?"
+
+Smeaton looked up sharply.  "Who says that he has disappeared?" he asked
+with some asperity.
+
+Mr Boyle smiled blandly.  "Why beat about the bush?  Monkton is not in
+his place in the House.  There is not a line in the papers about his
+movements, except that he is on the Riviera.  The public may not yet
+have tumbled to it.  But Fleet Street knows.  The House of Commons
+knows.  The clubs know.  And last--you and I know.  I still have some
+connection with the world in which I was once not an insignificant
+figure."
+
+Smeaton hardly knew what to answer.  The man had every quality that
+offended his well-ordered mind, but he was not the absolute fool he had
+taken him for.
+
+"Cannot a statesman, worn out and weary with hard work, take a brief
+holiday without letting loose all these absurd rumours?" he asked with
+pretended petulance.
+
+Mr Boyle shrugged his shoulders.  "My dear sir, I know as well as you
+do that this matter is in your hands, and you are hushing it up in the
+hopes that you will find a solution, and avoid a scandal.  So far you
+have failed.  If you had succeeded, either Monkton would have been back
+by now, or you would know of his death, and there would have been a
+public explanation.  You have failed, and do you know why?"
+
+"I shall be very glad to know why," Smeaton replied, goaded into a
+half-admission by the contemptuous tone of the other man.
+
+"Because, although you have some very clever men here you want a
+leavening of men of different calibre.  It is good to know every corner
+of the slums, to be acquainted with every incident in the career of
+burglar Bill and light-fingered Jack, to know the haunts of all the
+international thieves and forgers and anarchists.  That is sound and
+useful knowledge."
+
+"I am glad you think so," said Smeaton sarcastically.
+
+"In a case like this, however, you want another sort of knowledge
+altogether," pursued Mr Boyle, callously indifferent to the detective's
+sarcasm.  "You want a man who has mixed in the big world from his
+boyhood, who knows all the ins and outs, all the intrigue of social
+life, all the gossip, all the scandal that has been going round the
+clubs and drawing-rooms for the last forty years."
+
+"In other words, men like yourself--eh?  We have plenty such in our
+pay."
+
+"But they are not a recognised part of your official organisation,"
+rejoined Mr Boyle quickly.  "As you are kind enough to suggest myself,"
+he added modestly, "I think I may say that in certain cases I should
+earn my salary.  But I admit that at the burglar business I should be no
+use at all."
+
+There was a long silence.  Smeaton was trying to smother his
+indignation.  He had taken a dislike to the man from the first moment he
+had set eyes upon him.  His long-windedness, his self-conceit, his
+grotesque gestures, his assumption of superiority, his gibes at Scotland
+Yard methods, had added to it.  But he must bear with him; he was sure
+that Boyle had something more to say before he took his leave.
+
+Mr Boyle pursued his discourse, quite unconscious of the other's
+antipathy.
+
+"In spite of troubles that would have crushed a weaker man, I think I
+have worn well: I am frequently taken for ten years younger than I am.
+As a fact, there is only one year's difference between Monkton and
+myself.  We were at a tutor's together, and we went up to Cambridge in
+the same year."
+
+Smeaton breathed a sigh of relief.  He had an intuition that at last
+this exasperating person was coming to the point.
+
+"The Monkton of those days was very different from the Monkton of later
+years--the keen politician, the statesman conscious of the grave
+responsibilities of office.  He was full of fun and go, one of a band of
+choice spirits who kept things lively, and, as a matter of course, got
+into many scrapes, and came more than once into conflict with the
+authorities."
+
+Smeaton listened intently.  This was certainly not the prevalent idea of
+the statesman who had so mysteriously disappeared.
+
+"I saw a great deal of him afterwards.  We moved in much the same set.
+He married early, and everybody said that he was devotedly attached to
+his wife.  So, no doubt, he was.  At the same time, he had been a great
+admirer of the fair sex, and it was rumoured that there had been tender
+passages between him and several well-known ladies occupying high
+positions in society."
+
+The flamboyant manner had departed.  For the moment he seemed an
+ordinary, sensible man, setting forth a sober statement of actual fact.
+
+"There was one lady, in particular, with whom his name was especially
+connected.  She was at that time some live or six years younger than
+Monkton, and married--people said, against her will--to a very unpopular
+nobleman much older than herself, who was madly jealous of her.  It was
+reported at the clubs that the husband strongly resented Monkton's
+attentions, and that on one occasion a _fracas_ had taken place between
+the two men, in which Monkton had been severely handled.  Some
+corroboration was lent to the statement by the fact that he did not
+appear in the Courts for a week after the occurrence was supposed to
+have taken place."
+
+"Did this _fracas_ to which you allude take place before or after his
+marriage?" asked the detective.
+
+"Speaking from memory, I should say about a year before."
+
+And at this point Mr Boyle rose, drew a pair of faded gloves from his
+pocket, and put them on preparatory to his departure.
+
+"In a case of this kind, Mr Smeaton, it is well to remember the French
+proverb, `Look out for the woman.'  You, no doubt, have followed several
+clues, and evidently to no purpose.  Well, I will give you one gratis--
+keep your eye upon Lady Wrenwyck, now a middle-aged woman, but, at the
+time to which I refer, one of the most celebrated beauties of her day,
+and, according to rumour, wildly in love with Reginald Monkton.  It may
+lead to nothing, of course, but I think the tip is worth following."
+
+"I am obliged to you, and will certainly act upon your advice," said
+Smeaton gravely, as he held out his hand.
+
+As Mr Boyle took it his former eccentricities of manner returned.  He
+bowed profoundly, and spoke in his high, artificial voice.
+
+"Sir, I am more than flattered.  I shall go later on to Miss Monkton.  I
+should much like to make the acquaintance of my old friend's daughter."
+
+Smeaton was aghast at this declaration.  He had a shrewd suspicion that
+his real object in interviewing Sheila was to trade on his old
+acquaintance with her father, and probably obtain a loan.  It was a
+hundred to one that such a mercurial creature would drop some
+disquieting hints about Lady Wrenwyck.
+
+"I would beg of you to postpone your call, Mr Boyle.  Miss Monkton is,
+naturally, in a state of great depression and anxiety.  I should,
+however, very much like you to see Mr Austin Wingate, who is her best
+friend.  If you will favour me with your address, I will arrange a
+meeting."
+
+Mr Boyle, indulged in another of his grotesque bows.  He scribbled on a
+piece of paper, and handed it to the detective.
+
+"I should be glad to have that meeting arranged as soon as possible, Mr
+Smeaton."  There was a shade of anxiety in his voice.  Smeaton was sure
+that philanthropy was not the sole motive of his visit.  "Once more,
+good-bye."
+
+He advanced to the door, hesitated, with his hand upon the knob, and
+half turned round, as if about to say something more.  Apparently he
+changed his mind.
+
+"A random thought occurred to me, but it is nothing--not worth
+pursuing," he said airily, and passed out.
+
+But Smeaton knew instinctively the reason of that pause.  Boyle had
+screwed up his courage to borrow money, but he could not bring it to the
+sticking-point.
+
+Had he told the truth or were his statements pure invention?
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY.
+
+A CONFERENCE AT DOWNING STREET.
+
+"He's a blatant idiot, with lucid moments.  And in one of those rare
+moments of lucidity he told me about Lady Wrenwyck.  You agree with me,
+I am sure, that, at any cost, he must be kept from Miss Monkton."
+
+Such was Smeaton's pithy summing-up of his late visitor to Austin
+Wingate, who had hurried round on receipt of an urgent note from the
+detective.
+
+"I agree absolutely," was Wingate's emphatic response.  "She believes in
+her father so utterly that it would cut her to the heart to think he was
+anything short of immaculate, that he had ever shared the weaknesses of
+ordinary men.  You know all good women make idols of their male-folk.
+Now, tell me a little more about this person Boyle.  Is he what we
+should call a gentleman?"
+
+Smeaton shrugged his shoulders.  "I have nothing but his own statement
+to go upon, you understand.  But I should say you might have described
+him as such once.  Now, he is broken down, slightly shabby, has got the
+`seen-better-days' look, and is, I surmise, hard-up.  You will see him,
+of course, and I give you this hint beforehand: I think he will want to
+borrow money.  I'm sure he was within an ace of tapping me."
+
+"He can borrow what he likes, in reason, so long as I can keep him away
+from Chesterfield Street," said Austin fervently.
+
+Smeaton looked at him approvingly.  He was a gallant young lover.  No
+wonder that the girl's heart had gone out to him in her loneliness and
+misery.
+
+Wingate scribbled a brief but polite note to Boyle, inviting him to
+dinner the following day at a Bohemian club in Shaftesbury Avenue of
+which he was a member.  In this tolerant atmosphere his guest's
+eccentricities of manner and shabbiness of attire were less likely to
+provoke comment.
+
+Having arranged this, he took his leave of Smeaton, whom he left
+cogitating over the new development of affairs.
+
+The detective had no doubt in his own mind that Boyle, flighty and
+feather-brained as he seemed, could be level-headed on occasions.  The
+story he told him about Lady Wrenwyck certainly bore the impress of
+truth, but it was impossible for a man of such peculiar mentality to
+avoid exaggeration.  Before going further into the matter, he would like
+some corroboration.  To whom could he apply?
+
+And at once he thought of Mr Chesterton, the Prime Minister.  He and
+Monkton were life-long friends, had been at Cambridge together.
+Although not actually "born in the purple," having come from commercial
+stock, he had been adopted into society from his earliest youth.  His
+rare eloquence and commanding gifts had done the rest, and raised him to
+his present high position.
+
+An hour later he was closeted with the Premier in the big,
+heavily-furnished room at Downing Street.
+
+Mr Chesterton received him with that easy and graceful cordiality which
+was one of his greatest charms.
+
+"I have ventured to intrude upon your time, sir, with reference to the
+matter which is still baffling us--the mysterious disappearance of your
+colleague Mr Monkton, the Colonial Secretary.  I have had a visit from
+a peculiar person who calls himself Caleb Boyle, and he has given me
+some information that may or may not prove valuable.  He says he knew
+Mr Monkton intimately.  I am aware that you were life-long friends.  Do
+you happen to know anything of the man Boyle?"
+
+An amused smile flitted over the Prime Minister's features.  "I remember
+him well, a harum-scarum, chattering, frothy fellow--utterly devoid of
+brains.  Stay, I think perhaps I do him an injustice.  I would rather
+say he suffered from an excess of brain--of the ill-balanced sort.  So
+he has turned up again--eh?  I thought he had disappeared for good."
+
+"I take it, from that remark, that he has had a somewhat chequered
+career?" queried Smeaton.
+
+"Most chequered," was Mr Chesterton's reply.  In a few brief sentences
+he gave the history of Caleb Boyle, so far as he had known it.
+
+He was a man of good family, and possessed of some small fortune.  These
+advantages were nullified by the possession of nearly every quality that
+made for failure in life.  He was headstrong, prodigal, full of an
+overwhelming conceit in his own capacity.  He dabbled a little in
+everything--and could do nothing well.
+
+He fancied himself an orator, and spouted on politics till he bored
+everybody to death.  Believed himself a poet, and wrote execrable
+verses.  Flattered himself he was an artist of a high order, and painted
+daubs that moved his friends to mirth.
+
+The Premier paused.  Then proceeding, he said:
+
+"He came to London after leaving Cambridge, and went the pace.  In a few
+years he had run through his money.  Then began the downward progress.
+He became a sponger and a leech, borrowed money in every likely
+quarter--cadged for his luncheons and dinners.  He had been very
+generous and hospitable in his day, and his friends put up with him as
+long as they could.  One by one, they fell away, wearied by his
+importunities.  Then he came to the last stage--he took to drinking to
+excess.  Through the influence of the stauncher of his acquaintance, who
+still pitied him, he had secured three or four good positions.  One
+after another he had to relinquish them, owing to his intemperate
+habits.  That was the actual finish.  He disappeared from a world in
+which he had once held a very decent footing, and joined the great army
+of degenerates who live nobody knows where, and Heaven knows how."
+
+"I take it he is not speaking the truth when he says that he knew Mr
+Monkton intimately?" asked Smeaton, when Mr Chesterton had finished the
+brief narrative.
+
+The Premier shrugged his shoulders.  "We were all at Cambridge together.
+He knew Monkton and he knew me, in the way that undergraduates know
+each other.  We met afterwards, occasionally, in some of the many sets
+that constitute Society.  But I am sure that Monkton was never intimate
+with him.  He was one of dozens of men that he had known at school and
+college.  Boyle always built up his supposed friendships on very slender
+material.  It used to be said that if he knocked against an Archbishop
+by accident, and begged his pardon, he would swear afterwards that he
+was on terms of intimacy with him."
+
+There was a pause before Smeaton put his next question.
+
+"This man tells me that at one time there was a scandal about Mr
+Monkton and a certain Lady Wrenwyck--a woman of fashion and a noted
+beauty.  I take the liberty of asking you to confirm or refute that."
+
+Mr Chesterton frowned slightly.  "I take it, Mr Smeaton, you have a
+good reason for asking me this.  But, frankly, I am not fond of raising
+old ghosts."
+
+Smeaton answered him a little stiffly.  "In my calling, sir. we are
+often compelled to put inconvenient questions, but only when, in our
+judgment, they are absolutely necessary."
+
+"I accept your statement on that head, unreservedly, Mr Smeaton."  The
+frown cleared from the Premier's brow, and his tone was marked with that
+fine courtesy which had secured him so many friends.
+
+He paused a moment, drew a sigh, and resumed.  "I will be quite frank
+with you, Smeaton.  That chatterbox Boyle has told you the truth.  He
+was not in our particular set, but of course the common rumours reached
+him.  There was a scandal--a very considerable scandal.  It distressed
+his friends greatly, especially those who, like myself, appreciated his
+exceptional talents, and predicted for him a great career."
+
+Again he paused.  Then he resumed:
+
+"I am glad to say our counsels and influence prevailed in the end.  We
+weaned him from this fascinating lady--who fought very hard for him, I
+must tell you.  In the end we won.  A year later he married a very
+charming girl, who made him the best of wives, and to whom, I have every
+reason to believe, he was devotedly attached."
+
+Smeaton rose, and expressed his thanks for the candid way in which Mr
+Chesterton had treated him.
+
+"One last question, sir, and I have done," he said.  "What would be the
+present age of this lady?"
+
+"She is ten years or so Monkton's junior, and looks ten years younger
+than that.  At least, she did the last time I saw her, and that was a
+few months ago."
+
+As he walked across back to Scotland Yard, Smeaton turned it all over in
+his mind.  Lady Wrenwyck was ten years younger than Monkton, and looked
+ten years younger than her real age.  Therefore, without doubt, she was
+a beautiful and fascinating woman, and still dangerous.
+
+Had he cared to question the Prime Minister more closely, he could have
+gleaned more information about the Wrenwyck household.  But Mr
+Chesterton was obviously disinclined to raise "old ghosts," as he called
+them.  He would obtain what he wanted by other methods.
+
+He hunted up Lord Wrenwyck in the peerage, and found him to be a person
+of some importance, who possessed three houses in the country, and lived
+in Park Lane.  He was also twelfth Baron.
+
+Smeaton summoned one of his subordinates, a promising young fellow, keen
+at this particular kind of work, and showed him the page in the peerage.
+
+"I want you to find out as quickly as possible all you can about this
+family.  You understand, Johnson--every detail you can pick up."
+
+Detective-sergeant Johnson, qualifying for promotion, smiled at his
+chief and gave him his assurance.
+
+"I've had more difficult jobs, and perhaps a few easier ones, Mr
+Smeaton.  I'll get on it at once, and I don't think you'll be
+disappointed," he said.
+
+Mr Johnson omitted to mention, with a reticence that must be commended,
+that a cousin of his was a footman next door to the Wrenwyck
+establishment, and accustomed to look in of an evening at a select
+hostelry adjacent to Park Lane.
+
+That same evening--for Johnson's methods were swift and sure--he waited
+on his chief at Smeaton's house, with an unmistakable air of triumph on
+his usually impassive features.
+
+"I have got up some facts, sir.  I will read you from my notes.  Lady
+Wrenwyck was a girl when she married; her husband some twenty years
+older.  She was forced into the marriage by her parents, who were of
+good family, but poor as church mice.  Her ladyship was a beautiful
+girl, she soon went the pace, and had heaps of admirers, young and old.
+The husband, horribly jealous, thought he had bought her with his money.
+Terrible scenes between the pair, in which her ladyship held her own."
+
+Smeaton offered the subordinate his rare meed of praise.  "You have done
+devilish well, Johnson.  Go on."
+
+Sergeant Johnson proceeded, refreshing himself from his notes.  "For
+several years past they have lived in a sort of armed truce.  They live
+together, that is to say, in the same house, but they never exchange a
+word with each other, except before guests.  If they have to hold
+communication, it is by means of notes, conveyed through the valet and
+the lady's maid."
+
+"An extraordinary house, Johnson--eh?" interjected Smeaton, thinking of
+his own little comfortable household.
+
+"It's a bit funny, sir, to ordinary people, but in Society nothing is
+uncommon," replied Johnson.  "Shall I go on with my notes?"
+
+"Please do," said Smeaton cordially.  Johnson was of the younger
+generation, but he was shaping well.  Perhaps it is possible that
+youngsters have a wider outlook than their elders.
+
+Mr Johnson read on, in a deferential voice:
+
+"His lordship is an invalid--suffers from some affection of the joints,
+an aggravated form of rheumatism, walks with a stick.  Has been absent
+from Park Lane for a little time.  Nobody knows where he is.  His
+confidential man of business, steward or secretary or something, runs
+the house in his absence."
+
+"And her ladyship?" queried Smeaton eagerly.
+
+"I'm coming to that, sir.  Her ladyship has been away for some time;
+travelling abroad they think.  My informant gave me the date of her
+departure.  Here it is, sir."
+
+Smeaton looked at the little pencilled note.  He rose, and shook his
+subordinate cordially by the hand, saying:
+
+"Really you've done more than well.  You forget nothing, I see.  I shall
+watch your career with great interest.  If I can push you I will.  You
+may rely on that."
+
+Johnson bowed low at the great man's praise.  "A word here from you, Mr
+Smeaton, and I'm made in the Service."
+
+His voice faltered skilfully here, and he withdrew, leaving Smeaton to
+his reflections.
+
+The great detective meditated long and carefully.  He was not a person
+to jump hastily at conclusions.  He sifted the actual from the obvious.
+
+One fact emerged clearly, and it was this: Lady Wrenwyck had left her
+home, to which she had not returned, two days before the mysterious
+disappearance of Reginald Monkton--_two days_.
+
+That feather-headed fool, Caleb Boyle, had told him to "find the woman."
+Was the feather-headed fool right, and he, Smeaton, upon the wrong
+road?
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
+
+SHADES OF SOHO.
+
+Wingate smiled as he read the flamboyant note from Caleb Boyle,
+accepting his invitation to dinner.  It concluded with a characteristic
+flourish.  "Trusting that our meeting may prove as agreeable to you, as
+it is in anticipation to myself.  Yours sincerely, C.  Boyle."
+
+It was a beautiful summer morning.  His thoughts flew to his
+well-beloved.  What was she doing at this particular moment?  He could
+guess too well.  Sitting, with that far-away look in her dear eyes,
+brooding and lonely amid the ruins of her once happy home.
+
+He did not usually call so early, but to-day must be an exception.  A
+brilliant idea had occurred to the fond young lover; he hastened to put
+it into execution.
+
+She sprang up when he entered, and the light in her beautiful eyes, the
+faint flush on her cheek, told him that he was welcome.  The soft lips
+returned his fervent kiss.
+
+"We are going to take a holiday, darling," he cried gaily.  "This is a
+perfect day; it's a shame to be stifled in London.  We will run down by
+train to Shepperton.  I'll get a boat and pull you to Hampton Court.
+We'll lunch there, and afterwards stroll round the gardens.  Then I will
+bring you back home, I wonder if you remember that day--it seems such a
+little while ago--when we first met?"
+
+"Shall I ever forget it?" she whispered softly.  "I think, perhaps, I
+fell a little bit in love with you then.  And afterwards we met at
+Hendon, and you came to call on us at Chesterfield Street.  And my dear
+father took a great fancy to you.  And now--" she looked at him shyly,
+and did not finish the sentence.
+
+He took her in his arms and kissed her.  "And now, my darling, we are
+sweethearts for ever and ever."
+
+A couple of hours later they were on the river.  The beauty of the warm
+summer day, the pleasurable excitement of the journey, the change of
+scene, had momentarily lifted the shadows and induced forgetfulness.
+For that brief space she was her old joyous self, a girl in the glorious
+fulness of her youth, living and beloved.
+
+Her thoughts were such as come to pure girls in such moments.
+
+As they glided down the placid stream, the golden afternoon warm and
+odorous with the mingled scents of the summer air, so would they journey
+through life together.  She remembered how her father had adored her
+mother.  Austin would be such another true lover to the end of his days.
+
+They returned to Chesterfield Street.  She was loth to part with him and
+pressed him to stay to dinner.  He pleaded a business engagement.  He
+could not break faith with Boyle, although he was sorely tempted to do
+so.
+
+"You will be sure to come to-morrow?" she said, as she kissed him
+good-night.  It cut him to the quick to leave her alone in that sad
+house, but he had no choice.  At all costs, he must keep Boyle away from
+her.
+
+"Quite sure, my darling.  You love me a little?" he whispered as they
+parted.
+
+"Oh! so much," she answered with a sweet smile.  "Didn't I tell you this
+morning that I fell in love with you a long time ago?  You have been so
+kind, so patient, so good.  I fear I am a very sad sweetheart, but I
+know you understand.  The ties between my dear father and myself were so
+close.  We were all the world to each other."
+
+He hastened away, more firmly resolved than ever that Caleb Boyle should
+never put his foot in Chesterfield Street.  That trusting heart must
+never be pierced by doubts of her father's rectitude.
+
+Wingate was a few minutes late at the club that evening.  He found Mr
+Boyle awaiting him, in the full glory of evening attire.  His host could
+not help observing that the suit had seen good service, and that the
+shirt was frayed and dingy as to colour.  But Boyle's ready assurance
+was not in the least dashed by these circumstances.  He advanced with
+outstretched hand, and greeted Wingate in his usual fulsome manner.
+
+"I am sorry you troubled to dress, Mr Boyle.  This is quite a Bohemian
+club.  I ought to have told you."
+
+Boyle waved a deprecatory hand.  And his self-satisfied manner seemed to
+imply that, at this hour, evening attire was natural to him, and that he
+would have assumed it in any case.
+
+They went in to dinner.  Boyle began talking at once.  He admired the
+dining-room, the service, the club and its arrangements generally.
+
+"It is some years since I entered these portals," he remarked in his
+pompous, affected manner.  "I used to know some good fellows in the old
+days."
+
+He named Jimmy this, Dicky that, and Tommy the other.  Wingate noted
+that all the members with whom he boasted acquaintance had joined the
+majority.
+
+"I belonged to a lot of Bohemian clubs when I first started my London
+career," he explained.  "I was a member of the Garrick, and at the
+Savage I believe I am still remembered.  Ah! that those good old days
+could come again."
+
+He heaved a deep sigh, and for a few minutes applied himself to the very
+excellent meal that was set before him.  He ate heartily, consuming big
+portions of each dish.  His host had a shrewd notion that he had
+economised in the matter of lunch.
+
+When dinner was over, they passed to the smoking-room, where Mr Boyle
+very speedily disposed of a few whiskies, taking two to the other's one.
+
+It was here that Wingate touched lightly and delicately upon the visit
+to Smeaton.
+
+"I would like to impress upon you, Mr Boyle, that, under ordinary
+circumstances.  Miss Monkton would be delighted to receive any old
+friend of her father's; but I fear such a visit at present would pain
+her very much."
+
+Boyle rose to the occasion.  "It is I who am in fault.  It was a
+thoughtless suggestion on my part, made on the spur of the moment, and
+prompted, I assure you, by the sincerest feelings of sympathy for her,
+and esteem for my dear old friend."
+
+If his motives been of the nature suggested by Smeaton, he was certainly
+taking it very well.  Wingate pressed on him another whisky-and-soda.
+The offer was accepted with his usual alacrity.  His powers of
+absorption appeared to be unbounded.
+
+Wingate proposed a change of scene.  "What do you say to an hour or two
+at the Empire?  We'll stroll round and get a couple of stalls."
+
+Mr Boyle was delighted at the suggestion.  "Excellent," he cried, with
+the glee of a schoolboy.  "Dear old Empire, dear old mad and sad Empire,
+what visions it conjures up!  Let us go at once.  I will tread again the
+merry lounge, forget all gnawing care, and summon back the
+light-heartedness of youth."
+
+He revelled in it all so much that it was eleven o'clock before Wingate
+could get him away.  And then he had not exhausted his capacity for
+enjoyment.
+
+"Let us make a night of it," he cried cheerfully.  "You don't know what
+a delight it is to mix for a few hours with a man of my own world, like
+yourself.  We had an excellent dinner, but I am sure we could do a
+little supper together."
+
+Wingate would have preferred to decline, but, if he did so, Boyle might
+be offended.  And it was, above all things, necessary to keep him in
+good humour.
+
+"Good man," cried Mr Boyle, with one of his sweeping gestures.  "The
+night is young.  A few paces from here is a snug little restaurant,
+presided over by my old and excellent friend, Luigi.  You will be my
+guest."
+
+Wingate started at the name.  It was the little house in Soho where
+Monkton had dined with the bearded Russian on the night of his
+disappearance.
+
+The smiling proprietor welcomed Boyle with extreme cordiality.  They
+were very well acquainted.
+
+They had a light supper, and at the conclusion Boyle drew aside the
+waiter, and whispered something in his ear.  Wingate caught the words:
+"Put it down.  I'll call and pay to-morrow."
+
+The gentleman in the worn evening suit and the dingy shirt was evidently
+short of cash.  Wingate took advantage of the opportunity.  Smeaton had
+taken a dislike to the man, but what the poor broken-down creature had
+told him might be of service.
+
+"Pardon me, Boyle," he said, dropping the formal prefix, "but I could
+not help overhearing.  If you have come out without money, please let me
+be your banker for the time being."
+
+There was a long pause.  Boyle seized the tumbler of whisky-and-soda
+that stood at his elbow, and drained it at a draught.  For a few seconds
+he seemed struggling with some hidden emotion.  Then his usual
+flamboyancy returned.  He hailed the waiter in a loud voice, and ordered
+more refreshment.
+
+Then he laid his long, lean hand on the other's shoulder, and spoke in
+his deep, rolling tones.
+
+"Why should I play the hypocrite to a good fellow like yourself,
+Wingate.  I'm as poor as a church-rat--you can guess that from my
+clothes.  I asked you to supper on the spur of the moment with
+eighteenpence in my pocket, knowing that my old friend Luigi would give
+me credit.  I have a roof over my head for the rest of the week.  Next
+week I may not have that.  But I don't moan and whine; I set my teeth
+and smile, as I am smiling now.  Whatever men may think of me, they
+shall never say that Caleb Boyle showed the white feather."
+
+He took another deep draught as he finished the pathetic outburst.
+Wingate felt in his pockets.
+
+"I haven't much with me, only a couple of sovereigns.  But you can
+square the bill with that.  I have a cheque-book with me, and I shall be
+delighted to tide you over immediate difficulties, if you will name a
+sum."
+
+"Would ten pounds be too much?" asked Boyle, in a strangely hesitating
+voice.  For the moment, his assurance seemed to have forsaken him; he
+seemed to realise to what he had fallen.
+
+"Not at all."  The cheque was written and handed to the poor derelict,
+together with the two pounds in cash.
+
+For once, the usual flow of words did not come.  It was a quiet and
+subdued Boyle who called the waiter, and bade him bring the bill.
+
+"I cannot find words to thank you," he told his benefactor, "I can only
+say, God bless you.  I have done the same to many a poor devil myself,
+in olden days, but never in a more kindly and generous fashion.  I
+should like, if I may, to tell you a little bit of history."
+
+Wingate nodded.  He could not but feel sorry for the poor broken-down
+creature, who tried to hide his sorrows under this brave and pompous
+front.
+
+"I was ruined by a devil whom I first met here, before Luigi took the
+place.  He called himself Bellamy, but that was not his real name.  He
+was a foreign fraudulent company promoter by profession.  I was young
+and gullible.  He dazzled me with his swindling schemes, until he had
+stripped me of every penny."
+
+Wingate murmured his sympathy.  He surmised that Boyle was exaggerating
+when he accused the foreigner of having been the sole cause of his ruin.
+There was no doubt he had contributed pretty considerably towards his
+own downfall.  But was there ever a spendthrift yet who would admit as
+much?
+
+"But thank Heaven, he was trapped at last.  He went a step too far, and
+was beggared by a lawsuit brought against him by the shareholders of a
+company he had promoted, and which never paid a dividend.  Our old
+friend Monkton led against him, and trounced him thoroughly, I can tell
+you.  Every penny he possessed was seized, and he fled the country for
+fear of arrest."
+
+Wingate pricked up his ears.
+
+"You say this man was a foreigner.  Would you recognise his handwriting,
+if you saw it?"
+
+"Certainly.  I have more than a dozen of his letters in my possession.
+If you would care to come round to my rooms, I will show you them
+to-night."
+
+Wingate rose quickly.  "Is it far?"
+
+Boyle answered without a shade of embarrassment, "Shepherd's Bush.  Not,
+I regret to say, what you would call a fashionable suburb."
+
+In another two minutes they were in a taxi speeding towards Boyle's
+residence.
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
+
+ONE FACT IS ESTABLISHED.
+
+Boyle had directed the driver to stop at Uxbridge Road Station, where
+the two roads branch off, the one on the left leading into Chiswick,
+that on the right passing through Hanwell and Uxbridge.
+
+He got out, and insisted on paying the fare, out of his newly-acquired
+wealth.
+
+"We are now at the beginning of Shepherd's Bush.  The Carthorne road,
+where I live--I should rather say exist--is a few minutes' walk from
+here.  It would have been impossible to direct the driver.  It would
+require the exploring instinct of a Stanley or a Livingstone to track me
+to my lair," he laughed.
+
+He led Wingate through various mean streets, consisting of two long rows
+of narrow three-storied houses.  Several of them were to let.  Most of
+them bore cards in their windows with the words "Furnished apartments."
+Poverty everywhere betrayed its ugly features.
+
+Boyle paused before the door of one of these ill-favoured tenements, and
+applied a latchkey.  Wingate stepped into a narrow hall, covered by a
+strip of oil-cloth, full of holes, the pattern worn away with hard wear.
+An evil-smelling lamp hung from the ceiling, shedding a feeble light
+that was little removed from darkness.
+
+Boyle led him to the end of the passage, and took him into a chamber
+that extended the width of the house.  Quickly he struck a match, and
+lit a lamp.
+
+Wingate felt terribly depressed.  But Boyle, fortified, no doubt, by the
+unexpected possession of those few providential sovereigns, had
+recovered his accustomed buoyancy.  He waved his hand round the faded
+apartment with a theatrical air.
+
+"Welcome to my poor abode, the present _pied-a-terre_ of Caleb Boyle,
+once a member of exclusive clubs, and not an unknown figure in London
+society."
+
+Wingate looked round and shuddered inwardly at what he saw.  A horsehair
+sofa, black and stained with age, a carpet, worn threadbare and full of
+holes, three cane chairs, one easy-chair, worn and bulged out of shape,
+a cheap chest of drawers, with half the knobs missing.  And at the side
+of the wall opposite the fire-place, a low, narrow single bedstead
+covered with a darned and patched counterpane.  This was flanked by a
+yellow deal washstand.
+
+Was it possible that anybody who had once lived decently, could draw a
+breath in this musty and abominable hole?  Certainly there was a courage
+and power of endurance in the man that compelled Wingate's admiration.
+
+Boyle pushed one of the rickety chairs towards his guest, and crossed to
+a small hanging cupboard, from the recesses of which he produced a black
+bottle, which he held up to the lamp.
+
+"There is corn in Egypt," he cried gaily; he seemed in the highest
+spirits amid these depressing surroundings.  "We will carouse while the
+night is still young.  I am sorry I have no soda, and I fear all the
+houses are shut.  But the whisky is good."
+
+He poured out two liberal portions, added some water, and drained his
+off at a draught.  Then he stooped, and lifted the lid of a dilapidated
+tin box.
+
+"Now for the letters," he said.
+
+In a few moments he had found them, tied together in a packet with a
+thin piece of twine.  On a strip of paper within was: "Letters from
+Charles Bellamy to Caleb Boyle."
+
+Wingate took them, and rapidly scanned the contents of the first two.
+There were about a dozen in all.  They related to purely business
+matters, dwelling upon the magnificent prospects of a certain company in
+which Boyle had taken shares, and exhorting him to patience under the
+present non-payment of dividends.
+
+Read by the light of subsequent events, they were obviously the letters
+of a swindler to the victim he had entrapped in his financial meshes.
+
+But, of course, to Wingate the supreme matter of interest was the
+handwriting.  And here, he could not be positive.  He had read the
+threatening letter, and he knew the contents of it by heart.  But that
+was some time ago, and he could not form a mental picture of it.
+
+"Can you trust me with one of those, Mr Boyle, to show to our friend
+Smeaton, so that he may compare it with a letter in his possession.  I
+think, so far as my memory serves me, they were written by the same man,
+but I want to see the two together.  If you would rather not part with
+it, bring it down yourself to-morrow to Scotland Yard, and I will meet
+you there."
+
+Boyle was hurt at the suggestion.  "My dear Wingate, take the whole
+packet, if you wish.  After the noble way in which you have behaved
+to-night, is it likely I should refuse such a trifling thing?"
+
+"Thanks, they shall be returned to you directly Smeaton has done with
+them.  A thousand thanks, and now I will say good-night.  I have to be
+up betimes to-morrow morning."
+
+He left, after refusing Boyle's earnest request to join him in a final
+whisky.  He fancied there would not be much left in that bottle when the
+poor broken-down gentleman stumbled into his uninviting bed.
+
+Wingate took the precious packet round to Smeaton next morning.  And the
+detective, after a minute and lengthy examination, declared there could
+be no doubt that Charles Bellamy was the writer of the threatening
+letter.
+
+"I will put all the documents in the hands of an expert for
+confirmation," he said, "but I am quite certain in my own mind, and I
+shall follow up the clue at once."
+
+"You have also another clue, that concerning Lady Wrenwyck," observed
+Austin.  "Strange that we should be indebted to this peculiar creature,
+Boyle, for both!"
+
+"He seems to grow more useful as we cultivate his further acquaintance,"
+said the detective, a humorous smile softening for a moment his rather
+harsh features.
+
+"To which of the two do you attach the greater importance?" was
+Wingate's next question.
+
+"It is hard to say.  But by following both we may arrive at a solution.
+They must be pursued simultaneously and that requires two men.
+Personally I think the Bellamy track may produce the better result, and
+naturally I should like to choose that for myself.  On the other hand,
+the Wrenwyck one requires some experience and _finesse_, both of which
+qualities I flatter myself I possess.  Anyway, I must trust one of the
+two to a subordinate."
+
+He passed, and remained silent for a few moments, then made up his mind.
+He rang the bell, and requested that Johnson should come to him at
+once.
+
+"I have resolved to take the Bellamy clue," he explained to Wingate.
+"It will require some research, possibly lengthy communications with the
+police of other countries.  Here I shall be better equipped than a
+comparatively new man.  Johnson has so far acted with great promptitude
+in the Wrenwyck matter."
+
+Detective-sergeant Johnson appeared almost immediately, and to him
+Smeaton issued brief instructions.
+
+"About Lady Wrenwyck.  You have lost no time over this, and I want you
+to follow it up.  This is Mr Wingate, before whom we can speak quite
+freely.  Find out where the lady is and, equally important, if she is
+alone, or with a companion.  I exclude, of course, her maid."
+
+Mr Johnson bowed.  "I quite understand, sir.  I know, as a fact, her
+maid left with her.  She was with her ladyship before her marriage, and
+is, no doubt, entirely in her mistress's confidence."
+
+The detective paused a second, and then added a little touch of his own
+which, he was sure, would not be lost on his chief.  Besides, it showed
+his knowledge of high society, and of the ways of ladies who were a
+trifle unconventional.
+
+"Of course, sir, in circumstances of a delicate nature, ladies have been
+known to give their maids a holiday."
+
+"I quite appreciate that point, Johnson.  Well, get on to the job at
+once, and confer with me when necessary."
+
+Johnson withdrew, well pleased that his chief had entrusted him with so
+important a mission.  Smeaton turned to his visitor.
+
+"Well, Mr Wingate, we ought to find out something in the next few days.
+I will get on to the track of Bellamy at once.  Kindly drop a note to
+Boyle that I will keep his letters for a little time.  Good-bye for the
+present.  I will communicate with you the moment there is anything worth
+telling."
+
+He set to work at once on the Bellamy _dossier_.  Up to a certain point
+the task was comparatively easy.  The man was of Polish origin, his real
+name being Ivan Bolinski.  A little further investigation revealed the
+fact that he was the elder brother of the Bolinski who lived in the
+Boundary Road, St John's Wood, the man who had dined with Monkton at
+the Soho restaurant, and according to the evidence of Davies, the
+taxi-driver, one of the pair who had hailed his vehicle for the
+conveyance of the dying man to Chesterfield Street.
+
+So far, the scent seemed a warm one.  Bellamy, to give him his assumed
+name, was born of an English mother, and, in marked contrast to his
+brother, betrayed very little of the foreigner in his appearance.  He
+spoke English with a perfect accent.
+
+He had started his career as a money-lender, his operations, which were
+on a small scale, being confined chiefly to his compatriots.  He next
+blossomed out, in conjunction with a couple of scoundrels of the same
+kidney, into a promoter of small and shady concerns.  Success attended
+his efforts, and he then flew at higher game.  But although he amassed
+money he was never connected with a single flourishing company.  He made
+thousands out of his victims, but they never saw a penny of their money
+back until just at the end.
+
+And at this point Smeaton came to the trial at which Monkton had
+appeared and obtained a verdict for the restitution of the sums acquired
+by fraudulent misrepresentation.  Although only a civil action, the
+evidence against Bellamy was so damaging that a criminal prosecution was
+bound to follow.
+
+This he himself recognised, with the result that within twenty-four
+hours after the verdict had been given he escaped from England under an
+assumed name.
+
+Five years later he was convicted in America, and sentenced to a long
+term of imprisonment, under this assumed name.  At the trial it was
+conclusively proved that he was the same man, Ivan Bolinski, alias
+Bellamy, who had previously figured in the English Courts, and been
+driven from the pursuit of his nefarious occupation by the skill and
+eloquence of Monkton.
+
+He was tracked through a series of wanderings in different countries,
+where no doubt he still pursued his profession of _chevalier
+d'industrie_, although he seemed during that period to have escaped the
+active interference of justice till about five years ago.
+
+At that date he was living at a small village in Cornwall, either on his
+private means, or perhaps on money allowed him by his brother.  Against
+this brother, so far as his commercial career was concerned, nothing of
+a suspicious nature was known.
+
+Here Smeaton came to a _cul-de-sac_.  At that date Ivan Bolinski was
+living in this remote Cornish village, under the name of Charlton.
+Twenty years or so had elapsed since, in a moment of burning hatred, he
+had penned that threatening letter to the man who had brought to an
+abrupt close his nefarious career in this country.
+
+To that remote fishing hamlet went Smeaton.  He found the quaint little
+house which had sheltered Bellamy; which he hoped still sheltered him.
+The door was opened by an elderly woman.
+
+"I have come to inquire about a man named Charlton who came to live here
+five years ago," he said, going to the point at once.
+
+She was evidently an honest creature who knew nothing of what was going
+on in the big world outside her little corner of earth.
+
+"Please come in, sir.  A gentleman of that name came to lodge here about
+that time."
+
+She led him into the tiny parlour, and asked him to be seated.  At
+Smeaton's request she told him all about her lodger.
+
+"He was in very poor health, sir, when he came here, and he seemed to
+gradually get worse.  He was a very quiet gentleman; spent most of his
+time reading.  When he first came he took long walks, but latterly he
+had to give these up.  He lived a most solitary life, hardly ever wrote
+or received a letter, and had only one visitor, who came from London to
+see him occasionally."
+
+"Can you describe this visitor to me?" asked Smeaton.
+
+"A tall, bearded man, who walked with a limp, and looked like a
+foreigner.  He told me he was his brother.  I remarked once how unlike
+they were, and he smiled and said he took after his mother, and the
+other after his father.  Once he told me that Charlton was not his
+proper name, that he had taken it for the sake of property."
+
+A somewhat indiscreet admission, thought Smeaton.  But after all those
+years there was little to fear.  He had been forgotten by now, and this
+simple woman could do him no harm.
+
+The landlady went on with her narrative.
+
+"As I told you, sir, he got worse and worse, and Doctor Mayhew, who
+lives a little way beyond the village, was always in and out.  It must
+have cost a small fortune, that long illness.  Then one night, just
+before the end, he sent me with a telegram to his brother--it was a long
+foreign name, and I can't remember it."
+
+"Bolinski," suggested Smeaton.
+
+The woman looked puzzled.  "Very likely, sir; I know it began with a B.
+Next day the brother came down, and stayed with him till he died, a
+matter of a week.  I remember when the doctor was going to give the
+certificate he told him the right name to put on it.  I remember his
+words: `The name of Charlton was assumed, doctor.  On the certificate we
+will have the real one.  It doesn't matter now.  It was assumed for
+reasons I do not wish to explain, and they would not interest you.'"
+
+"When did he die?" asked Smeaton eagerly.
+
+"A little over two years ago, sir, this very month."
+
+Then, as the detective rose, she added: "If you would like to step round
+to Doctor Mayhew's he is sure to be in at this time.  He could give you
+full particulars of the end."
+
+"Thanks," said Smeaton absently, as he bade her good-day.
+
+There was no need to visit the doctor.  The woman's tale had been simple
+and convincing.
+
+What he knew for a certainty was that Ivan Bolinski, alias Bellamy,
+alias Charlton, the writer of the threatening letter, had died more than
+two years before Reginald Monkton's disappearance.
+
+Was Reginald Monkton dead, or still alive?
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
+
+WHICH MAKES ONE FACT PLAIN.
+
+Mr Johnson felt a pleasurable sense of elation when he embarked on the
+mission assigned him by his chief.  If he could discover anything that
+would help to elucidate or solve what was known amongst the select few
+as "the Monkton Mystery," rapid promotion was assured.
+
+Smeaton was not a jealous man, and besides, if Johnson did score a
+success, it was his senior who had given him the materials to work upon.
+
+Still, although pleasantly elated, he did not disguise from himself the
+difficulties of his task.  He had to find out where Lady Wrenwyck was
+hiding--she was hiding, of course, or her whereabouts would have been
+known to her household.  And he did not know the woman by sight.
+
+He grappled with the smaller difficulty first, when he met his cousin
+the footman, at their usual meeting-place.
+
+"Any chance of getting a peep at a photograph of her ladyship?" he
+asked.  He had told Willet, such was his name, as much as it was good
+for him to know, and no more.
+
+"I'm very friendly with several of the Wrenwyck lot," was Willet's
+reply.  "I daresay I could smuggle one out for you for half-an-hour, but
+it's exciting suspicion, isn't it?  And I suppose you don't want to take
+too many people into your confidence?"
+
+Johnson agreed with this sentiment emphatically.  He could swallow any
+amount of confidence himself, but he hated reciprocity.  Hear
+everything, and tell nothing, or, at the worst, as little as you can.
+That was his motto.
+
+"It would lead to gossip, and we should have to fudge up some tale or
+other, Dick.  We'll let it alone for the present, and only use it as a
+last resource."
+
+Mr Willet reflected, and then he remembered.  "Look here.  I've just
+thought of the very thing!  I've a lot of old illustrated newspapers by
+me.  Not very long ago there was a full-page portrait of her, in fancy
+dress at the Devonshire House ball--Queen of Sheba or something.  It's a
+splendid likeness.  If you once see it, you'd pick her out from a
+thousand.  Stay here for ten minutes, and I'll hunt it out and bring it
+round."
+
+Willet was as good as his word.  In a little over the time he had
+stated, the portrait was in Johnson's hands, and carefully scrutinised.
+In the words of his cousin, wherever he met Lady Wrenwyck he would "pick
+her out of a thousand."
+
+That little difficulty was solved without any loss of time.  The
+important one remained: where was she at the present moment?
+
+On this point Willet could give no information.  Her maid had packed her
+boxes, and they had started off one afternoon when her husband was
+absent, without a hint of their destination from either of them.
+
+"Doesn't Lord Wrenwyck know?  Surely she must have given him some
+information, even if it was misleading."
+
+"I doubt if Wrenwyck knows any more than we do," replied Willet,
+alluding to this highly-descended peer with the easy familiarity of his
+class.  "She's disappeared half-a-dozen times since her marriage in this
+way, and come back when it suited her, just as if nothing had happened."
+
+"A rum household," observed Johnson, who was not so used to high-class
+ways as his cousin.  "But you told me that she had no money when she
+married him.  You can't travel about for weeks on nothing.  What does
+she do for cash on these jaunts?"
+
+Mr Willet shrugged his shoulders.  "Not so difficult as you think.  The
+old man made a handsome settlement on her, and I suppose she times her
+journeys when she's got plenty in hand, and comes back when she's broke.
+Besides, her bank would let her overdraw, if she wrote to them."
+
+"You're right, I didn't think of that.  Her bankers have got her address
+right enough, and, of course, they wouldn't give it.  They would forward
+a letter though, if one could write one that would draw her."
+
+There was a pause after this.  Johnson was pondering as to how it was
+possible to utilise her bankers--somebody in the household would be sure
+to know who they were.  Willet was pondering too, and, as it appeared,
+to some purpose.
+
+"Look here, you haven't told me too much, and I don't blame you either,
+under the circumstances, but I see you want to get on her track.  I've
+an idea I'll tell you."
+
+"You're full of 'em," said Johnson appreciatively.
+
+"You may take my word for it, nobody at the Wrenwyck house knows;
+anyway, nobody I can get hold of.  Now, she's got a bosom friend, a Mrs
+Adair, rather rapid like herself, and married to just such another
+grumpy, half-cracked old chap as Wrenwyck himself."
+
+"I didn't know he was half-cracked," interposed Johnson, who never
+missed the smallest piece of information.
+
+"They all say he is.  Wheeler, his valet, tells me he has frightful fits
+of rage, and after they are over, sits growling and gnashing his teeth--
+most of 'em false, by the way."
+
+Mr Willet paused for a moment to accept his cousin's offer of another
+drink, and then resumed.
+
+"I don't want to raise your hopes too high, old man.  If she's on the
+strict q.t. it's long odds she won't let a soul know where she is.  But
+if she has told anybody, it's Mrs Adair, who, if necessary, would help
+her with money if she's short.  They've been bosom friends for years;
+when in town they see each other every day."
+
+Johnson nodded his head judiciously.  "It's an even chance that Mrs
+Adair knows, if everybody else is in the dark.  But how the devil are we
+to get at Mrs Adair?  If we could, she wouldn't give her away."
+
+Mr Willet grinned triumphantly.  "Of course not, I see that as well as
+you do; I'm not a juggins.  Now this is just where I come in to help the
+great London detective."
+
+"You are priceless, Dick," murmured Mr Johnson in a voice of unfeigned
+admiration.
+
+"Mrs Adair's maid is a girl I've long had a sneaking regard for.  But I
+had to lie low because she was keeping company with an infernal rotter,
+who she thought was everything her fancy painted.  Two months ago, she
+found him out, and gave him the chuck.  Then I stepped in.  We're not
+formally engaged as yet, but I think she's made up her mind she might do
+worse.  It's a little early yet.  I'm taking her out to-morrow night.
+I'll pump her and see if Mrs Adair receives any letters from Lady
+Wrenwyck.  My young woman knows the handwriting, and the postmark will
+tell you what you want--eh?"
+
+Johnson again expressed his admiration of his cousin's resource,
+suggested a little _douceur_ for his trouble, and gallantly invited him
+and his sweetheart to take a bit of dinner with him.
+
+But Willet, who was of a jealous disposition, waved him sternly away.
+"After marriage, if you like, my lad, not before.  You're too
+good-looking, and not old enough.  Never introduce your young lady to a
+pal.  No offence, of course.  You'd do the same in my place, or you
+haven't got the headpiece I give you credit for."
+
+Johnson admitted meekly that in the case of an attractive young woman it
+was wise to take precautions.  They parted on the understanding that
+they would meet at the same place two nights later.
+
+They met at the time appointed, and there was an almost offensive air of
+triumph about Mr Willet's demeanour that argued good things.  He
+started by ordering refreshment.
+
+"Now to business," he said, in his sharp, slangy way.  "I've pumped Lily
+all right, and this job seems as easy as falling off a house.  No
+letters have come from the lady, or gone to her, since she left, but--"
+he made a long pause here.  "Every week a letter comes to Mrs Adair
+with the Weymouth postmark on it and every week Mrs Adair writes to a
+Mrs Marsh, whom Lily never heard of, and the letter is addressed to the
+Weymouth post-office.  The writing on the envelope that comes to Mrs
+Adair is not Lady W.'s.  Do you tumble?"
+
+"It's a hundred chances to one that her ladyship is at Weymouth, and her
+maid addresses the envelope," was Johnson's answer.
+
+"I say ditto.  Mrs Adair's letter is posted every Thursday.  To-day is
+Wednesday.  Put yourself in the Weymouth train to-morrow, keep a watch
+on the post-office next morning, and the odds are that letter will be
+fetched by Lady Wrenwyck, or her maid."
+
+"Thanks to the portrait I know the mistress, but I don't know the maid.
+Describe her to me."
+
+Mr Willet produced a piece of paper and pencil.  "I'm a bit of an
+artist in my spare time.  I'll draw her for you so exactly that you
+can't mistake her."
+
+He completed the sketch and handed it to his cousin.  Later, they parted
+with mutual expressions of good will.
+
+Friday morning saw Johnson prowling round the Weymouth post-office.  He
+had to wait some time, but his patience was rewarded--he saw both Lady
+Wrenwyck and her maid.
+
+After issuing from the post-office, they went together to several shops,
+strolled for a few minutes up and down the sea front, and then returned
+home.
+
+He had not expected to find them at a hotel, for obvious reasons.  He
+was not therefore surprised when they entered one of the bigger houses
+facing the sea.  They wanted privacy, and their only chance of getting
+that was in lodgings.
+
+He snatched a hasty lunch, and kept observation on the house till about
+six o'clock, in the hope that her ladyship would come out again with a
+companion.  But he was disappointed in this expectation.
+
+He made up his mind to force matters a little.  He went up boldly to the
+door and knocked.
+
+"Is Mrs Marsh at home?" he asked the servant who answered the summons.
+
+The girl answered in the affirmative.  "Who shall I say, please?" she
+added.
+
+"Wait a moment.  Is she alone?"
+
+It was a random shot, but it had the effect he intended.
+
+"Quite alone.  Mr Williams is very bad again to-day.  He's in bed."
+
+Mr Williams!  Just the sort of ordinary name a man would assume under
+the circumstances.
+
+"She won't know my name.  Just say a Mr Johnson from London wishes to
+see her on urgent private business."
+
+As he waited in the hall, he wondered whether she would refuse to see
+him?  Well, if she did, it only meant delay.  He would stay on at
+Weymouth till his business was done.
+
+The maid interrupted his reflections by calling over the banisters,
+"Will you come up, please?"
+
+The next moment, he was bowing to Lady Wrenwyck, who was seated in an
+easy-chair, a book, which she had just laid down, on her lap.  She was a
+very beautiful woman still, and although she sat in a strong light, did
+not look over thirty-five.
+
+She received him a little haughtily.  "I do not remember to have seen
+you before.  What is your business with me?"
+
+Johnson fired his first shot boldly.  "I believe I have the honour of
+addressing Lady Wrenwyck?"
+
+Her face went a shade paler.  "I do not deny it.  Please explain your
+object in seeking me out.  Will you sit down?"
+
+The detective took a chair.  "You have no doubt, madam, heard of the
+mysterious disappearance of an old friend of yours, Mr Monkton."
+
+He had expected to see her start, or show some signs of embarrassment.
+She did nothing of the kind.  Her voice, as she answered him, was quite
+calm.
+
+"I have heard something of it--some wild rumour.  I am sorry for his
+daughter and his friends, for himself, if anything terrible has
+happened.  But why do you come to me about this?"
+
+It was Johnson's turn to feel embarrassment now.  Her fine eyes looked
+at him unwaveringly, and there was just the suspicion of a contemptuous
+smile on her beautiful face.
+
+"I knew you were close friends once," he stammered.  "It struck me you
+might know something--he might have confided something to you."
+
+He broke down, and there was a long pause.  For a space Lady Wrenwyck
+turned her face away, and looked out on the sea front.  Suddenly she
+divined his errand, and a low ripple of laughter escaped her.
+
+"I think I see the meaning of it all now.  You have picked up some
+ancient rumours of my friendship with Mr Monkton, and you think he is
+with me here; that I am responsible for his disappearance."
+
+The detective was too embarrassed to answer her.  He was thankful that
+she had seen things so quickly.
+
+"I don't know why I should admit anything to you," she went on, in a
+contemptuous voice, "but I will admit this much.  There was a time when
+I was passionately in love with him.  At that time, if he had lifted up
+his little finger I would have followed him to the end of the world.  He
+never asked me--he had water in his veins, not blood.  That was in the
+long ago.  To-day he is nothing to me--barely a memory.  Go back to
+London, my good man.  You will not find Reginald Monkton here."
+
+Her scornful tone braced the detective, and dispelled his momentary
+embarrassment.
+
+"Who then is Mr Williams?" he asked doggedly.
+
+"Oh, you know that, do you?--you seem full of useless knowledge.  Mr
+Williams, an assumed name like my own, is my youngest and favourite
+brother.  There is a tragic family history which I shall not tell you.
+It suffices to say I am the only member of his family who has not
+severed relations with him.  He is very ill.  I am here to nurse him
+back to health and strength."
+
+Johnson looked dubious.  She spoke with the ring of truth, but these
+women of the world could be consummate actresses when they chose.
+
+She rose from her chair, a smile half contemptuous half amused upon her
+charming face.
+
+"You don't believe me.  Wait a moment, and I will convince you."
+
+She left the room, returning after a moment's absence.
+
+"Follow me and see for yourself," she said coldly, and led the way into
+a bedroom adjoining the room in which they had been talking.
+
+"Look here," she pointed to the bed.  "He is asleep; I gave him a
+composing draught an hour ago."
+
+Johnson looked.  A man of about thirty-five, bearing a remarkable
+likeness to herself, was lying on his side, his hand supporting his
+head.  The worn, drawn features spoke of pain and suffering from which,
+for the moment, he was relieved.
+
+The detective stole from the room on tiptoe, followed by Lady Wrenwyck.
+"You know Mr Monkton by sight, I presume?  Have you seen enough?  If
+so, I beg you to relieve me of your presence and your insulting
+suspicions."  She pointed to the stairs with an imperious hand.
+
+Johnson had never felt a bigger fool in his life--he would have liked
+the earth to open and swallow him.
+
+"I humbly apologise," he faltered, and sneaked down the stairs, feeling
+like a whipped mongrel.
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
+
+THE MYSTERY OF THE MAID-SERVANT.
+
+When Johnson reported himself to his chief at Scotland Yard he had in a
+great measure recovered his self-possession.  He had only failure to his
+credit, but that was not his fault.  He had followed up the clue given
+to him with exemplary speed.  The weakness lay in the unsubstantial
+nature of the clue.
+
+Smeaton listened to his recital, and made no caustic or petulant
+comment.  He was a kindly man, and seldom reproached his subordinates,
+except for instances of sheer stupidity.  He never inquired into their
+methods.  Whether they obtained their results by luck or judgment was no
+concern of his, so long as the results were obtained.
+
+"Sit down.  Let us talk this over," he said genially.  "It was a clue
+worth following, wasn't it?"
+
+"Undoubtedly, sir," replied Johnson.  "It was one of the few
+alternatives possible in such a case.  I assure you, sir, I set out with
+high hopes."
+
+"It's a failure, Johnson, but that's no fault of yours; you did all that
+could be expected.  I have had my rebuff, too.  I have tracked the
+writer of the threatening letter, only to find he died two years before
+Monkton's disappearance.  That was a nasty knock also.  And yet that was
+a good clue too--of the two, a trifle better perhaps than yours."
+
+Detective-sergeant Johnson made no answer.  Smeaton looked at him
+sharply.  "You would say that was something to work on, wouldn't you?"
+
+Johnson reflected a moment.  When you are going to exalt your own
+intelligence at the expense of your superior's intellect, it demands
+diplomacy.
+
+He spoke deferentially.  "May I speak my mind plainly?" he asked.
+
+"I desire perfect frankness."  Smeaton was not a little man.  He knew
+that elderly men, in spite of their experience, grow stale, and often
+lose their swiftness of thought.  It was well to incline their ears to
+the rising generation.
+
+"It was a clue worth following, sir, but personally I don't attach great
+importance to it."
+
+"Give me your reasons, Johnson.  I know you have an analytical turn of
+mind.  I shall be delighted to hear them."
+
+And Johnson gave his reasons.  "This was a threatening letter.  I
+daresay every big counsel receives them by the dozen.  Now, let us
+construct for a moment the mentality of the writer; we will call him by
+his real name, Bolinski.  A man of keen business instincts, or he would
+not have been the successful rogue he was.  Naturally, therefore, a man
+of equable temperament."
+
+"It was not the letter of a man of equable temperament," interposed
+Smeaton grimly.
+
+"A temporary aberration," rejoined the scientific detective.  "Even men
+of calm temperament get into uncontrollable rages occasionally.  He
+wrote it at white heat, strung to momentary madness by the ruin that
+confronted him.  That is understandable.  What is _not_ understandable
+is that a man of that well-balanced mind should cherish rancour for a
+period of twenty-odd years."
+
+"There is something in what you say, Johnson.  I confess that you are
+more subtle than I am."
+
+Johnson pursued his advantage.  "After the lapse of twelve months, by
+which time he had probably found his feet again, he would recognise it,
+to use a phrase we both know well, sir, as `a fair cop.'  He had defied
+the law; the law had got the better of him.  He would take off his hat,
+and say to the law: `I give you best.  You are the better man, and you
+won.'"
+
+Smeaton regarded his subordinate with genuine admiration.
+
+"I am not too old to learn, Johnson; you have taught me something
+to-night."  He paused a moment, and added slowly: "You have taught me to
+distinguish the probable from the possible."
+
+Johnson rose, feeling he had done well and impressed his sagacity upon
+his chief.
+
+"I believe, sir, when you think it over you will admit that such a
+delayed scheme of vengeance would not be carried out, after the lapse of
+so many years, by a man of ordinary sanity.  I admit it might be carried
+out by a lunatic, or a person half-demented, on the borderland--a man
+who had brooded over an ancient wrong till he became obsessed."
+
+Smeaton nodded, in comprehension.  His subordinate was developing
+unsuspected powers.
+
+"Wait a moment, Johnson.  We know certain things.  We know Bolinski--who
+wrote the threatening letter--is out of it, so far as active
+participation is concerned.  Lady Wrenwyck is out of it.  We know the
+two who put the dying man in the cab.  We know about Farloe and Saxton.
+We know about the Italian who died at Forest View.  We know about the
+man Whyman, who invited me to stay the night, and disappeared before I
+was up next morning.  You know all these things, everything that has
+taken place since I took up the case.  You have thought it all over."
+
+"I have thought it all over," replied Johnson, always deferential and
+always imperturbable.
+
+"Don't go yet," said Smeaton.  "Frankly, we seem to have come to a dead
+end.  Have _you_ anything to suggest?"
+
+Johnson's triumph was complete.  That the great Smeaton should seek the
+advice of a lieutenant, except in the most casual and non-committal way,
+was a thing unprecedented.
+
+But, following the example of other great men, he did not lose his head.
+He spoke with his accustomed deliberation, his usual deference.
+
+"The mystery, if it ever is solved, sir, will be solved at Forest View.
+Keep a watch on that house, day and night."  He emphasised the last
+word, and looked squarely at his chief.
+
+Smeaton gave a sudden start.  "You know Varney is watching it."
+
+"A clever fellow, sir; relies upon intuition largely and has little
+patience with our slower methods.  He watches it by day--well, no
+doubt--but he doesn't watch it by night.  Many strange things happen
+when the sun has gone down."
+
+Smeaton smiled a little uneasily.  "You are relying on intuition now
+yourself, Johnson.  But this conversation has given me food for thought.
+I will carry out your suggestion.  In the meantime understand that, in
+this last mission, you have done all that is possible.  I shall send in
+a report to that effect."
+
+Johnson withdrew, well pleased with the interview.  He had greatly
+advanced himself in his chief's estimation and he had skilfully avoided
+wounding Smeaton's _amour propre_.
+
+The day was fated to be one of unpleasant surprises.  A few hours later
+Varney dashed into his room, in a state of great excitement.
+
+"Astounding news--infernal news!" he cried, dashing his hat down on the
+table.  "But first look at this, and see if you recognise the original."
+
+He handed Smeaton a snapshot.  The detective examined it carefully.
+Truth to tell, it was not a very brilliant specimen of photographic art.
+
+"The cap and apron puzzled me a little at first," he said at length.
+"But it is certainly Mrs Saxton; in other words, I take it, the
+parlourmaid at Forest View."
+
+"Just what I suspected," cried Varney.  "I was thinking about the woman,
+firmly convinced in my own mind that she was different from what she
+pretended to be.  In a flash I thought of Mrs Saxton.  I got a snap at
+her in the garden yesterday morning, without her seeing me, so as to
+bring it to you for identification."
+
+"Forest View seems to be the centre of the mystery," said Smeaton
+slowly.  "Well, this is not the infernal news, I suppose?  There is
+something more to come."
+
+And Varney blurted out the astonishing tale.  "Forest View is empty.
+They made tracks in the night--while we were all sound asleep."
+
+Smeaton thought of Johnson's recommendation to watch the house by night
+as well as day.  He reproached himself for his own carelessness when
+dealing with such wary adversaries.
+
+"Tell me all about it," he said sharply.
+
+Varney went on with his story.
+
+"It has been my custom to stroll round there every night about eleven
+o'clock, when the lights are put out, generally to the minute," he said.
+"I did the same thing last evening; they were extinguished a few
+minutes later than usual, but I did not attach any importance to that."
+
+"They were packing up, I suppose, and got a little over their time,"
+observed Smeaton.
+
+"No doubt.  I am usually a light sleeper, but I had taken a long cycle
+ride in the afternoon, and slept heavily till late in the morning.  I
+took my usual stroll after breakfast.  The gate was closed, but there
+were marks of heavy wheels on the gravel, and all the blinds were down.
+I went up to the door, and rang the bell.  Nobody answered."
+
+"Did they take all the furniture?" queried Smeaton.  "No, they could not
+have moved it in the time."
+
+"I am certain, from the marks, only one van had gone in and come out.
+They only removed what was valuable and important.  I questioned the
+local constable.  He saw a van pass, going in the direction of London,
+but had no idea of where it had come from.  Some of them, I expect, got
+into the van, and the others took a circuitous route in the motor."
+
+Smeaton listened to all this with profound chagrin.  He rose and paced
+the room.
+
+"I am fed up with the whole thing, Varney," he said, in a despondent
+voice.  "I have followed two clues already that seemed promising, and
+they turn into will-o'-the-wisps.  And now we've got to begin all over
+again with this Forest View lot."
+
+Varney agreed.  As a relief from the strain and tension of this most
+baffling case, he suggested that Smeaton should dine with him at the
+Savage Club that night, to talk things over.
+
+After an excellent dinner, they recovered somewhat from the depression
+caused by the recent untoward events.  They went into the Alhambra for
+an hour, and then strolled up Coventry Street.
+
+They waited at the corner of the Haymarket to cross the street.  The
+traffic from the theatres was very congested, and the vehicles were
+crawling slowly westward.
+
+Suddenly Smeaton clutched at his companion's arm, and pointed to a taxi
+that was slowly passing them beneath the glare of the street lamps.
+
+"Look inside," he cried excitedly.
+
+Varney took a few quick paces forward, and peered through the closed
+window.  He returned to Smeaton, his face aglow.
+
+"The parlourmaid at Forest View, otherwise Mrs Saxton, by all that's
+wonderful!"
+
+"Did you notice the man?"
+
+"No, I hadn't time.  The driver started on at proper speed before I
+could focus him."
+
+"Do you know, the face in that gleam of light looked wonderfully like
+that of Reginald Monkton!" he said.  "I committed the number of the taxi
+to memory.  To-morrow, we shall know where it took them."
+
+Next morning, the taxi-driver was found, and told his tale simply and
+straightforwardly.
+
+"I picked them up in the Strand, sir, an elderly gent and a youngish
+lady.  I was standing by the kerb, having just put down a fare.  They
+had stepped out of another taxi a few yards below, they waited till it
+drove away, and then they came up and got into mine.  I thought it a bit
+peculiar."
+
+"Where did you put them down?"
+
+"At the corner of Chesterfield Street, Mayfair.  I asked them if I
+should wait, but the lady shook her head.  The gentleman seemed ailing
+like; he walked very slow, and leaned heavily on her arm."
+
+Smeaton tipped the man, who in a few moments left his room.
+
+If it was Monkton, as he believed, why had he gone to Chesterfield
+Street?  And having gone there, why had he alighted at the corner,
+instead of driving up to the house?
+
+In a few moments he took up the telephone receiver and asked for the
+number of Mr Monkton's house.
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
+
+STILL MORE MYSTERY.
+
+Grant answered the 'phone in Chesterfield Street.  To Smeaton's inquiry,
+he replied that Miss Monkton had just left the house with Mr Wingate.
+They were lunching out somewhere, but she had left word that she would
+be back about three o'clock.
+
+"Any message, sir?" he concluded.
+
+"No, thank you.  Grant.  I want to see her rather particularly.  I'll
+look round about three o'clock.  I suppose she's likely to be pretty
+punctual?"
+
+Grant replied that, as a rule, she kept her time.  He added, with the
+privileged freedom of an old servant: "But you know, sir, when young
+folk get together, they are not in a great hurry to part.  And poor Miss
+Sheila hasn't much brightness in her life now.  I don't know what she
+would do if it wasn't for Mr Wingate."
+
+About two o'clock Varney walked into Smeaton's room at Scotland Yard.
+He had taken an early morning train to Forest View, to find out what he
+could concerning the mysterious flitting.  He had interviewed the
+house-agent at Horsham, and had learned a few facts which he
+communicated to the detective.
+
+There had been mystery about the man who called himself Strange from the
+beginning.  When he proposed to take the house, he had been asked for
+references, according to the usual custom.  He had demurred to this,
+explained that he did not care to trouble his friends on such a matter,
+and made a counter-proposition.  He would pay a quarter's rent at once,
+and every three months pay in advance.
+
+The landlord and the house-agent both thought this a queer proceeding,
+and were half inclined to insist upon references.  But the house had
+been to let for some time, and the loss of rent was a consideration.
+The man Strange might be an eccentric sort of person, who disliked
+putting himself under an obligation, even of such a trifling kind.  They
+gave him the benefit of the doubt, feeling so far as the money was
+concerned that they were on the safe side.
+
+Another peculiar thing about Mr Strange was that, during the whole of
+his residence at Forest View, he had never been known to give a cheque.
+The landlord's rent was paid in banknotes, the tradesmen's accounts in
+gold and silver.
+
+Smeaton put an obvious question: "Have they heard anything from Stent?"
+
+"I am coming to that now, and here is more mystery, as might naturally
+be expected," was Varney's answer.  "A young man called at the
+house-agent's late yesterday afternoon.  He was described to me as a
+youngish, well-dressed fellow, rather thick-set and swarthy.  I take it,
+we know nothing of him in connection with this case?"
+
+Varney looked at Smeaton interrogatively.  The detective shook his head.
+
+"No; you have been told of everybody I know."
+
+"Well, this chap came with a queer sort of story," Varney went on.  "He
+explained that he was a friend of Stent, I should say Strange.  Two or
+three days ago Strange had received an urgent summons from abroad, which
+admitted of no delay.  He had posted off at once to Croydon, got hold of
+a furniture dealer there, brought him back, and sold the furniture to
+him.  He was to fetch it before the end of the week.  Strange had given
+this fellow a letter to the agent, authorising him to let the dealer
+have the furniture, and hand him the proceeds, less a sum of twenty-five
+pounds which had been paid as deposit.  Out of these proceeds the agent
+was to deduct the sum accruing for rent, the tenancy being up in four
+months' time--and keep the balance till Strange sent for it, or gave
+instructions for it to be sent to him!"
+
+"And, of course, nothing more will be heard of Stent," interrupted
+Smeaton.  "The balance will lie in the agent's hands unclaimed."
+
+"It looks like it," said Varney.  "The agent thought it all sounded very
+fishy, although this young fellow carried it off in a pretty natural
+manner.  It was only when he was asked to give his name and address that
+he showed any signs of embarrassment.  But, after a moment's hesitation,
+it came out pat enough.  He was a Mr James Blake, of Verbena Road,
+Brixton, by profession an insurance agent."
+
+"A false name and address, of course?" queried Smeaton.
+
+"Yes and no," replied Varney.  "I got up to Victoria about twelve
+o'clock, and hurried at once to Verbena Road.  There, sure enough, was a
+plate on the door, `James Blake, Insurance Agent.'  I rang the bell and
+asked to see him; I had prepared a story for him on my way there.
+Fortunately he was in."
+
+"And he was not the swarthy, thick-set young man who had gone to
+Horsham?"
+
+"Certainly not.  He was a man of about forty-five with a black beard.
+In five minutes he told me all about himself, and his family, a wife and
+two daughters.  One was a typist in the city, the other an assistant in
+a West End hat shop.  Our dark-faced friend apparently picked the name
+out of the directory at random, or knew something of the neighbourhood
+and its residents.  We may be quite sure Horsham will not see him again
+for a very long time.  By the way, I forgot to tell you that Stent went
+round the day before, and paid up all the tradespeople."
+
+"No want of money," observed Smeaton.  "They evidently didn't `shoot the
+moon' on account of poverty.  There's no doubt they spotted you, and
+guessed they were under observation."
+
+"It looks like it," admitted Varney reluctantly.  Smeaton had uttered no
+word of reproach, but it was a blow to the young man's pride to know
+that he had allowed his quarry to escape.
+
+"Well, we must think this over a bit, before we can decide on further
+steps," said the detective at length, in a desponding tone.  "I am off
+to Chesterfield Street in a few moments, to see if I can learn anything
+fresh there.  We know that Mrs Saxton was at the corner of the street
+last night, if we are not positive about her companion."
+
+Grant opened the door to him when, on the stroke of three, he alighted
+from a taxi.
+
+Half-an-hour went by, and still Sheila did not make her appearance.
+Smeaton began to fidget and walk up and down the dining-room, for he
+hated waiting for anybody.  Then the door-bell rang.  He rose and
+hastened into the hall, just as Grant opened the door.
+
+He saw a dark-haired young woman, neatly dressed in navy blue, standing
+there.  He thought there was a slight tremor of nervousness in her voice
+as she asked if Miss Monkton was at home.
+
+Grant explained that she was out, but he expected her back every minute.
+Would she come in and wait?
+
+Apparently she was on the point of doing so, when she caught sight of
+Smeaton standing in the background.
+
+Her face flushed, and then went pale.  She drew back, and her
+nervousness seemed to increase.  It was impossible for her to keep her
+voice steady.  "No--no, thank you," she stammered, as she edged back.
+"It is of really no importance.  I will call another day--to-morrow
+perhaps."
+
+"What name shall I say?" asked Grant, surprised at her agitation.
+
+She grew more confused than ever.  "I won't trouble you; it doesn't
+matter in the least.  I mean.  Miss Monkton would not know my name, if I
+told it you."
+
+With a swift gesture, she turned and fled.  She had been nervous to
+start with, but Smeaton's steady and penetrating gaze seemed to have
+scared her out of her wits.
+
+The detective chatted for a moment or two with Grant, but made no
+comment upon the strange visitor.  Still, it struck him as a curious
+thing, as one more of the many mysteries of which this house was so
+full.  Would the young woman come back to-morrow, he wondered?
+
+Five minutes later Sheila and her lover arrived.  They had spent the
+best part of the morning in each other's company, and had lingered long
+over their lunch.  But Wingate was loth to part from her, and insisted
+upon seeing her home.
+
+She was puzzled, too, at the advent of this dark-haired young woman.
+"Oh, how I wish I had been a few minutes earlier," she cried.  "I shall
+worry about it all night."
+
+"Strange things seem to happen every day," grumbled Smeaton.  "A very
+mysterious thing happened at the corner of this street last night."
+
+Then he told them briefly of the midnight move from Forest View, of his
+dinner with Varney, and how they had seen Mrs Saxton in the taxi-cab in
+Coventry Street; of the taxi-driver's story that he had driven her to
+the corner of Chesterfield Street, where she had got out, and dismissed
+the cab.
+
+"But surely she was not alone," cried Sheila.
+
+"A man was with her, but the cab passed too rapidly for us to get a look
+at him," replied Smeaton evasively.  After all, it was only a suspicion,
+he could not be positive.
+
+He paused a second, and went on hesitatingly.
+
+"I can't imagine what her motive could be in coming so near.  I came
+round to-day because I had an idea that she might have called here on
+some pretext."
+
+"But, if she had done so, of course I should have rung you up," said
+Sheila quickly.
+
+"Well, I could have been sure of that too, if I had thought it out."
+Smeaton's manner was strangely hesitating, it seemed to them, not
+knowing that he was only revealing half of what was in his mind.  "I
+hardly know why I came at all.  I think the case is getting on my
+nerves.  Well, I won't keep you any longer.  Let me know if that young
+woman calls again, and if her visit concerns me in any way."
+
+He left, and when he had gone Sheila turned to her lover.  "Mr Smeaton
+was very peculiar to-day, wasn't he, Austin?  He gave me the impression
+of keeping something back--something that he wanted to tell and was
+afraid."
+
+Austin agreed with his well-beloved.  There was certainly something
+mysterious about the great detective that afternoon.
+
+Meanwhile Smeaton walked back to his office, more puzzled and baffled
+than ever.  Why on earth had Mrs Saxton and her companion driven to
+Chesterfield Street?  And what had become of the other inmates of Forest
+View?
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
+
+THE SECRET PICTURE.
+
+Sheila Monkton spent a restless night; truth to tell, her nights were
+never very peaceful.  Even when she snatched her fitful sleep, the
+sinister figures of Stent, Farloe, and all the others who had become
+part of that haunting tragedy, flitted through her dreams, and made her
+welcome the daylight.
+
+And now she had still more perturbing food for thought.  Why had Mrs
+Saxton, object of suspicion as she knew herself to be, ventured so near
+her?  What did that surreptitious excursion portend?
+
+And who was that strange female who had called, and who would leave
+neither name nor message and had fled precipitately at sight of Smeaton
+in the hall?
+
+She made up her mind, when she wakened in the morning, to remain at home
+all day.  It might turn out to be nothing, but she felt sure that this
+woman had some object in calling upon her.  The air had been thick with
+mystery for many weeks; she was convinced there was still more in store,
+and it would be brought by this strange visitor.
+
+Yet she waited in vain; the young woman dressed in the navy blue
+costume, as described by the old manservant, did not make a second call.
+And poor Sheila spent still another night as wakeful as the preceding
+one.  She came down to breakfast languid and heavy-eyed.
+
+She opened her letters listlessly, till she came to one larger than the
+rest, out of which dropped a photograph.  At sight of it she exclaimed
+warmly to herself: "What a charming likeness.  It is the image of dear
+Gladys.  How sweet of her to send it to me!"
+
+She threw away the envelopes, and took the photo to the window to
+examine it more closely.  It was a picture of her greatest friend, a
+girl a year older than herself, the Lady Gladys Rainham, only daughter
+of the Earl of Marshlands.
+
+Her father had been intimate with the Earl since boyhood, and the
+passing years had intensified their friendship, which had extended to
+their families.  Until this great sorrow had fallen upon Sheila, hardly
+a day passed without the two girls getting a glimpse of each other.
+
+The Rainhams were amongst the few friends who knew the true facts of
+Monkton's disappearance.  And, in almost morbid sensitiveness, Sheila
+had withdrawn a little from them.  Even sympathy hurt her at such a
+time.
+
+But the sudden arrival of this photo of the young Society beauty brought
+old memories of friendship and affection.  They had played together as
+children; they had told their girlish secrets to each other, and it
+struck her that she had been wrong, and a little unkind, in withdrawing
+herself from the sympathy of those who were so interested in her
+welfare.
+
+Gladys, no doubt, had been hurt by this attitude.  She had written no
+note, she had not even signed the photograph.  She had just sent it to
+recall herself to her old friend and companion.  It had been sent as
+signal that if Sheila chose to make the smallest advance, the old
+relations would be at once re-established.
+
+On the spur of the moment, she wrote a warm and impulsive note, begging
+Gladys to come and lunch with her that day.
+
+"Forgive me for my long silence and absorption," she concluded.  "But I
+know you will understand what I have lately suffered."
+
+She sent the note round to Eaton Square by her maid, with instructions
+to wait for an answer.  It came, and Sheila's face flushed with pleasure
+as she read it.
+
+"I quite understand, and I have nothing to forgive," wrote the
+warm-hearted girl.  "But it will be heavenly to see you again and talk
+together as we used."
+
+She came round half-an-hour before lunch-time, and the pair reunited,
+kissed, and clung together, and cried a little, after the manner of
+women.  Then Sheila thanked her for the present of the photo, which, she
+declared, did not make her look half as beautiful as she was.
+
+Gladys looked puzzled.  "But I never sent any photo to you, Sheila!
+Which one is it?  Let me see it."
+
+Sheila handed it to her friend, who exclaimed, after examining it: "It
+is the one they took of me at the Grandcourt House Bazaar; I think it is
+quite a good one.  But, Sheila darling, if I had sent it to you I should
+have written a note, at least have signed it.  All this is strange--very
+strange!  What does it mean?"
+
+Miss Monkton coloured a little as she answered:
+
+"Yes, I did think it strange that you did not write.  I thought it so
+far as I am capable of thinking.  But I know I have been very difficult
+lately, and I fancied perhaps you didn't want to make advances, and that
+you just sent that as a reminder of old times, trusting to me to
+respond."
+
+Lady Gladys kissed her warmly.  "Ah! you poor darling, I quite see," she
+said.  "But who could have sent it?  That is the puzzle."
+
+They both discussed it, at intervals, at table, and could arrive at no
+solution.  When Lady Gladys had left, Sheila puzzled over it all by
+herself, with no better result.  Then, at last, weary of thinking, she
+telephoned to Wingate.
+
+Austin, who was in his office, agreed that the thing was very
+mysterious, and that he was as much mystified as she was.  He ended the
+brief conversation by advising her to go to Smeaton.
+
+"Our brains are no good at this sort of thing," he said candidly.  "The
+atmosphere of mystery seems to suit them at Scotland Yard--they breathe
+it every day."
+
+She drove at once to Scotland Yard, where they knew her well by now.
+Smeaton was disengaged, and she was taken to his room at once.
+
+"Any news.  Miss Monkton?" he asked eagerly.  "Has that young woman
+called?"
+
+The girl shook her head.  "No, I waited in all day yesterday, but to no
+purpose.  Now another strange thing has happened," and she told him
+briefly of the receipt of the photograph from some unknown person.
+
+"You didn't look at the envelope, I suppose?"
+
+"No, Mr Smeaton.  I hardly ever do look at envelopes.  I threw it away
+with the rest.  It would have given you a clue, of course."
+
+"It might," returned Smeaton, who was nothing if not cautious.  He
+ruminated for a few moments, and then said, abruptly, "You have brought
+it with you?"
+
+Sheila, who had taken that precaution, handed it to him.  He turned it
+over, peering at it in that slow, deliberate fashion of a man who
+examines with the microscopic detail everything submitted to him.
+
+"Taken, I see, by the well-known firm of Kester and Treeton in Dover
+Street.  Well, somebody ordered it, so we've got to find out who that
+somebody was.  I will go to them at once, and let you know the result in
+due course."
+
+Sheila looked at him eagerly.  She had great faith in him, although so
+far he had had nothing but failure to report.
+
+"Have you formed any opinion about it?" she asked timidly.
+
+Smeaton smiled grimly, but he answered her very kindly.
+
+"My dear Miss Monkton, I have formed many theories about your father's
+disappearance, and, alas! they have all been wrong.  I am leaning to
+distrust my own judgment.  I will say no more than this.  This curious
+incident may end as everything else has done, but I think it is worth
+following up.  I will put you into your car, and go on to the
+photographers."
+
+"Let me drive you there, and wait," urged Sheila eagerly.  "I shall know
+the result so much quicker."
+
+The photographers in Dover Street had palatial premises.  Smeaton was
+ushered from one apartment to another, till he reached the private
+sanctum of the head of the firm, where he produced his card, and
+explained his errand.
+
+Mr Kester was very obliging; he would do all he could to help, and it
+would only be a matter of a few moments.  They kept a record of every
+transaction, and in all probability this was quite a recent one.
+
+He returned very shortly.  It seemed that a young lady had called a
+couple of days ago, and asked for half-a-dozen portraits of Lady Gladys.
+On account of the Grandcourt House Bazaar, there had been a great run
+on the photos of the various stallholders, he explained.  They happened
+to have a few copies of this particular picture in stock.  The lady
+purchased six and took them away with her, saying that "they were for
+reproduction in the illustrated newspapers and the usual copyright fee
+would be paid."
+
+"Can you give me a description of the person who bought them?" was
+Smeaton's first question, when Mr Kester had concluded his story.
+
+"My assistant who served her is a very intelligent girl.  Let us have
+her in."
+
+Kester 'phoned and requested Miss Jerningham to be sent to him.  The
+fluffy-haired young lady remembered the incident perfectly, and
+described the dress and appearance of the young woman who had bought the
+photographs.
+
+If her description was to be trusted, it was the same person who had
+asked to see Miss Monkton and refused to leave her name.
+
+Smeaton, who had grown so utterly tired of theories and clues, began to
+believe he was on something tangible at last.
+
+He rejoined Sheila, but he did not say much.
+
+"I shall follow this clue," he told her.  "The photo was sent for a
+purpose, and that woman knows why it was sent.  I believe you will hear
+from her again, unless I scared her away."
+
+"Mr Smeaton, do tell me what you really think.  I am sure there is
+something curious in your mind," implored the agitated Sheila.
+
+But the detective was not to be charmed from his reserve.
+
+"I must think over it a lot more yet.  Miss Monkton, before I can hazard
+any opinion," he told her in his grave, deliberate way.  "If I were to
+reveal any half-formed idea that is running through my brain, it is one
+I should have to dismiss as inapplicable to the circumstances as I see
+them at present."
+
+From that he would not budge.  Sheila drove away with a heavy heart.
+Wingate came round to dinner that night, and they talked about nothing
+else.  The only thing they could arrive at with any certainty was that
+the mysterious visitor, the young woman dressed in navy blue serge
+costume, was the sender of the photo.  But that did not help them to
+discover the reason she had sent it.
+
+That night Sheila lay awake, very depressed and anxious, still puzzling
+over this latest mystery.  Presently she dozed, and then, after a few
+moments of fitful sleep, woke with a start.  Was it in that brief dream
+that some chords of memory had been suddenly stirred of a conversation
+held long ago between her father and a young man named Jack Wendover, a
+second secretary in the diplomatic service at Madrid?
+
+Jack Wendover had told him of an ingenious method of communication
+invented by a married couple, who were spies in the pay of a foreign
+Government.  She could hear him explaining it to Reginald Monkton, as
+she sat up in the dark, in that semiconscious state between dreaming and
+waking.
+
+"They were clever.  They wouldn't trust to ciphers or anything of that
+sort, when they were separated; it was much too commonplace.  They sent
+each other photographs.  The receiver cut the photograph down, and found
+between the two thicknesses of cardboard a piece of tissue paper, upon
+which was written the message that the sender wished to convey."
+
+She could hear her father's hearty laughter, as he said: "Truly, a most
+ingenious method.  Has that really been done?"
+
+She had not been reminded of that for nothing, she felt sure.  Why had
+this sudden recollection of an old conversation come to her in the dead
+of the night, if not for some purpose?
+
+The photo was still lying upon her desk in the morning-room.  The house
+was quite quiet.  Grant slept in the basement and the maids and the
+footman were at the top of the house.
+
+She rose, slipped on a dressing-gown, and lighted a candle.  Then
+noiselessly she descended the stairs and reached the morning-room.  She
+took a small penknife from the drawer of her desk, and carefully split
+the mount of the photograph.
+
+When she had finished, a piece of tissue paper fluttered to the floor,
+and upon that paper was a message.
+
+As she read it she held her breath.  Her beautiful eyes grew soft and
+misty, while a lovely flush crept over her fair features.  Tenderly,
+almost reverently, she raised the flimsy paper to her lips.
+
+"Not even to Austin," she murmured, in a voice that was half a sob.
+"Not even to Austin--dear as he is to me--not even to him."
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
+
+THE STORY OF THE PORTRAITS.
+
+Austin Wingate was sitting in his office the next morning.  The post had
+been unusually heavy, and he had a busy day in front of him.  In view of
+the pressure of business which he saw was impending, he was about to
+ring up Sheila to tell her that he would not come to Chesterfield Street
+to dinner, as had been arranged, but would see her later in the evening.
+She, however, rang him up first.
+
+"I want to see you as soon as you can possibly get away," she told him.
+"Something very wonderful has happened; I can't tell you over the
+'phone.  Can you come to lunch--or before, if possible?"
+
+No true lover puts his business before his sweetheart.  He replied
+unhesitatingly that he would be with her inside a couple of hours.  That
+would give him time to attend to his most pressing correspondence.  The
+rest, or that portion of it which could not be delegated to his
+subordinate, must wait till to-morrow.
+
+Sheila had changed her mind.  Overnight she had resolved not to
+communicate that wonderful message even to him.  Had it not enjoined her
+to the strictest secrecy?
+
+But on calmer reflection other thoughts had prevailed.  The sender of
+that message did not know of the relations between them.  Austin was a
+part of her life, her second self.  How could she keep such an important
+thing from him, from the lover who had encompassed her with such tender
+devotion through this terrible time?
+
+"Dear, kind Austin," she murmured, as she thought of the readiness with
+which he had acceded to her request.  "He never fails me in the
+slightest thing.  No girl could ever have a truer lover."
+
+In two hours he would be here, and she could show him the paper on which
+was written that mysterious message.  How should she get through the
+interval?  The minutes seemed as if they would never pass.
+
+She was sitting in the cosy library where her father had spent most of
+his time when at home.  What long chats they had enjoyed together in
+that dear old room.  Her eyes filled with tears as she recalled those
+happy days, which, alas! seemed so far away.  She was aroused from her
+reveries by the entrance of Grant.
+
+"The young person who called the other day, and refused to leave her
+name, is here.  Miss," he told her.  "She won't give any name now;
+merely says she would like to see you for a few minutes.  I have shown
+her into the drawing-room."
+
+Sheila's face flushed with excitement.  Hurriedly she went upstairs to
+her mysterious visitor.
+
+The dark-haired young woman rose at Sheila's entrance.  It was easy to
+see she was terribly nervous.
+
+"I am speaking to Miss Monkton, am I not?  I must apologise for
+intruding upon you, but I shall not keep you more than a few seconds.  I
+came just to ask you, to know if--if--" she stammered so that she could
+hardly get her words out.
+
+"You wanted to know if--?" repeated Sheila encouragingly.  She was
+terribly excited herself, but the calmer of the two.
+
+"Did you receive a portrait of a friend of yours, Lady Gladys Rainham,
+the envelope containing it directed in a strange handwriting?"
+
+"I did receive that portrait.  At the time I did not notice the
+handwriting.  I concluded it had been sent me by Lady Gladys herself."
+A sudden light dawned upon Sheila, as she spoke.  "It was you who sent
+it, was it not?"
+
+"Yes, it was I, acting upon instructions."
+
+"By whom were those instructions given?" asked Sheila eagerly.
+
+The young woman's manner was more embarrassed than ever.  "I am very
+sorry, but that I must not tell you.  Later on, I daresay you will know
+all."
+
+"But you have something more to tell me, surely?"
+
+"Yes.  That photograph was sent for a purpose.  I called the other day,
+but you were out.  It contains a message.  Cut it in two, and you will
+find a letter inside."
+
+"I have already done so," was Sheila's reply.  "When my friend Lady
+Gladys denied having sent it to me, I puzzled and puzzled over it.  And
+then, I think it must have been in a dream, I recalled something that
+had happened long ago which set me on the right track.  I went
+downstairs in the night, cut the photograph as you suggested, and found
+the message inside."
+
+The mysterious visitor looked towards the door, and made a movement of
+departure.
+
+"My task is done then, and I will detain you no longer."
+
+But Sheila stayed her impetuously.  "But you will not leave me so
+abruptly.  You can understand my terrible anxiety.  You will relieve it
+by telling me what you know."
+
+In her agitation, she laid her hand upon the arm of her strange visitor,
+but the young woman freed herself, and advanced towards the door.
+
+"I can understand and sympathise with you," she said in a faltering
+voice.  "But please do not press me, it is useless.  I am under the most
+solemn promise to say no more.  You must wait and be patient."  In
+another moment she had left the room, leaving poor Sheila bewildered and
+tearful.
+
+Austin Wingate came later, was told of the strange visitor, and shown
+the message which had been contained in the photograph.
+
+He took her in his aims and kissed her fondly.  "My darling, you must
+still be brave and patient," he said tenderly.
+
+She looked up at him with her sweet smile.  "I have waited so long,
+Austin, I can wait a little longer, always providing that you are here
+to comfort me."
+
+Wingate did not leave her till late in the afternoon.  The day was too
+far advanced for him to return to his office.  He strolled to the
+Wellington Club.
+
+Just as he was going in, he caught sight of Farloe.  He took a sudden
+resolve, and went up to the secretary, who did not seem too pleased to
+see him.
+
+"Good-day, Mr Farloe.  May I walk with you a little way?  There is
+something I should like to ask you."
+
+The young man assented, but by no means with a good grace.  They had
+taken an instinctive dislike to each other from the first.  They walked
+together in silence for a few paces, and then Wingate suddenly blurted
+out:
+
+"What has become of Reginald Monkton?  I know you could tell us, if you
+chose."
+
+The secretary's face blanched to the lips.  He tried to smile, but the
+smile was a very forced one.
+
+"Your question, and your manner of putting it, Mr Wingate, are both
+very offensive.  I know no more of Monkton's whereabouts than you do.
+It is generally reported that he is abroad."
+
+"And you know as well as I do that it is not the fact," answered Wingate
+sternly.  "Have a care, Mr Farloe.  We know a good deal about you."
+
+The secretary assumed an air of extreme _hauteur_, but his face was
+whiter than ever.
+
+"It is extremely kind of you to interest yourself in my affairs, but I
+am afraid they will hardly repay the trouble of investigation.  Perhaps
+you will allow me to bid you good-day."
+
+"Please give me another moment or two, Mr Farloe.  We know this much
+about you, that you are in close communication with Stent and Bolinski,
+the two men who sent that dying man in the taxi to Chesterfield Street."
+
+For a moment the two men glared at each other, Wingate's face aflame
+with anger, the other with an expression half of fear, half of defiance,
+stealing over his white mask.
+
+"You refuse to tell me anything?" asked Wingate at length.
+
+"I have nothing to tell you," answered the other, in a voice that he
+could not keep quite steady.  "Once again, good-day."  He turned on his
+heel, and walked rapidly away.
+
+For fully five minutes he walked quickly in an easterly direction.  Then
+he turned round, and cast stealthy glances backwards.  Apparently he
+could not get it out of his mind that Wingate might be pursuing him.
+
+But he scanned the faces of the hurrying foot-passengers, and he could
+discern no hostile countenance.  Well-dressed loungers, women intent on
+shopping and bargains, a man dressed in working costume, walking with a
+slouching gait.  These were all he saw.
+
+He hailed a taxi, and shouted in a loud voice: "Broad Street Station."
+He had to shout loudly, for the roar of the traffic was deafening.
+
+The working-man with the slouching gait caught the words.  A second taxi
+was just behind.  He opened the door and jumped in, after having
+whispered in the ear of the driver, "Follow that fellow."
+
+At Broad Street Station Farloe alighted, needless to say the man who had
+pursued him close on his heels.  Two tickets were taken for Hackney
+Station, one first-class, the other third-class.
+
+The disguised working-man, otherwise Varney, had been considerably
+chagrined at the disappearance of the Forest View household, and had
+sworn to be even with them.  He had watched Farloe ever since, knowing
+that through him he would get at the whereabouts of Stent and Bolinski.
+
+Farloe alighted at Hackney Station, and after walking for about a
+quarter of a mile, turned up one of the many mean streets that abound in
+that neighbourhood.  The secretary knocked at the door of one of the
+dingiest houses in the row, and disappeared inside.
+
+Varney kept his watch.  At the end of an hour or so three men emerged
+from the shabby dwelling.  As he expected, the two others were Stent and
+Bolinski.
+
+The three men made their way into Mare Street, and turned into the
+saloon bar of a big public-house.  Something of importance was evidently
+in progress.
+
+Varney reflected.  They would be some minutes before they had finished
+their drinks and their conversation.  In the meantime, he had taken the
+name of the street and the number of the house.  He could allow himself
+five minutes to ring up Scotland Yard.
+
+Smeaton was fortunately in.  In a few brief words he told the detective
+of his discovery.  Smeaton's reply come back.
+
+"Things are happening.  I will send at once a couple of sergeants to
+help you.  Hold on till my men arrive and then come straight on to me."
+
+It is a far cry from Scotland Yard to Mare Street, Hackney.  But,
+occupied with his own thoughts, it seemed only a few minutes to Varney
+when the two detectives drove up, and alighted at the door of the
+public-house.  A swift taxi can do wonders in annihilating space.
+
+The elder of the two men, whom Varney knew slightly, advanced towards
+him.
+
+"Good-day, Mr Varney.  We struck here first, as being the nearest.
+They're still inside, eh?"
+
+"I should have left, if not.  Well, I suppose you will take up my job."
+
+"That's about it, sir.  Mr Smeaton told me he would like to see you as
+soon as possible.  I think he has got something important to
+communicate.  We'll wait for these two gentlemen.  Stent and the
+Russian, to come out--Farloe we have nothing against at present--and
+then we'll clap the darbies on them in a twinkling."
+
+Varney, for a moment, looked incredulous.  "But on what charge?"
+
+The detective grinned.  "One that we only knew of yesterday.  A charge
+of fraud in connection with certain rubber property.  Another man of the
+name of Whyman is in it, but he seems to have got clear away."
+
+Varney, his brain in a whirl, took his way back to Scotland Yard, still
+in his costume of a working-man.
+
+"Well, what does it all mean?" he gasped, when he got into Smeaton's
+room.
+
+The great detective smiled genially.  "It means, my dear Varney, that we
+are nearing the end of the Monkton mystery which has baffled us so
+long."
+
+"And the solution?" queried the other eagerly.
+
+"That I cannot tell you yet.  But when it does come, I am afraid neither
+you nor I will reap much glory out of it."
+
+And Varney could get nothing out of him except those few cryptic words.
+
+"Something has happened quite recently?" he hazarded.
+
+The detective answered with that same slow, wise smile of his.
+"Perhaps.  I can tell you nothing more now.  Wait a moment, till I
+answer that telephone."
+
+A few words passed, and then he turned to Varney.  "My men report they
+have laid Stent and Bolinski by the heels on the charge of fraud."
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
+
+IN THE MISTS.
+
+Detective-sergeant Johnson stood in Smeaton's room, listening to the
+final instructions of his chief with his usual respectful air.
+
+"Be as diplomatic as possible, Johnson.  Let him suspect that we know
+everything, without committing yourself to any actual statement.  Above
+all, impress upon him the fact that he must come.  We would prefer he
+did so voluntarily.  If he should prove obstinate, give him clearly to
+understand that we have other means at our disposal."
+
+Johnson spoke with quiet confidence.  "I think you may safely leave it
+to me.  After what you have told me, I am sure I can persuade the
+gentleman to accompany me.  But, of course, I shall say nothing openly,
+simply confine myself to broad hints that ran only bear one meaning."
+
+Smeaton regarded Johnson approvingly.  For some time past he had
+discerned in this comparatively young man qualities that bade fair to
+secure him a high position in his profession.  He was level-headed,
+quick at instructions, possessed of considerable initiative, cautious,
+yet daring on occasion, confident without being boastful.
+
+"One last word before you leave.  You will make quite sure he is in the
+house before you enter it; in other words, that he has returned to
+London."
+
+"I heard yesterday from my cousin, who had met his valet, that his
+lordship arrived late the previous evening.  But to make sure, I have
+appointed to meet Willet this afternoon, so as to get the latest news."
+
+"Quite right, Johnson, quite right," said the great detective in his
+most cordial tones.  "Never leave anything to chance."
+
+The subordinate bowed himself out, well pleased that he was advancing
+himself so steadily in his chief's favour.
+
+An hour later he was in the saloon bar of the exclusive establishment
+which was patronised by the upper servants of Mayfair.  Here he found
+his cousin awaiting him, who greeted him heartily.  The two men had
+corresponded a few times, but they had not met since the day when Willet
+had produced the portrait of Lady Wrenwyck.
+
+"Glad to see you, old chap," cried the footman heartily.  "I've been
+longing to hear how you got on with that little job at Weymouth.  No
+difficulty in finding her ladyship, I suppose?"
+
+"Tumbled to her at once," answered Johnson, who adapted his tone and
+language to those of the company in which he found himself for the time
+being.  "Took a walk down to the post-office, and she and the maid fell
+into my arms in a manner o' speaking."
+
+Johnson paused, not quite knowing what to say next.  Willet looked at
+him inquiringly, but meeting with no response exhibited signs of injured
+dignity.
+
+"Look here, old man, it ain't my business to pry into secrets that don't
+concern me.  But I helped you a goodish bit in that quarter, and I don't
+think you need be so devilish close."
+
+Johnson goaded himself to speech; if he was to retain his cousin's
+friendship he must say something.  And the man spoke the truth; he had
+helped him to the extent of making the preliminaries very easy.
+
+"Now, look here, laddie, I should like to tell you everything.  You
+helped me a lot, but on my honour I can't do it.  Large interests and
+great people are affected in the matter.  But I will tell you this much,
+and you must believe me or not, as you please: I found her ladyship
+right enough, only to discover that I was on the wrong scent.  Now and
+again, you know, we do make bloomers at the Yard."
+
+Mr Willet's affability was at once restored by this frank and manly
+statement.  "Say no more, old man; mum's the word.  Fill up, to show
+there's no ill-feeling."
+
+Johnson filled up, and drank his relative's health with becoming
+cordiality.  He wanted something more out of him yet.
+
+"So far as Lady Wrenwyck is concerned.  I've no further use for her.
+But I haven't quite done with all the people in the Wrenwyck house
+itself.  Only this time I'm on another track altogether."
+
+Willet's eyes bulged out of his head with curiosity, but he knew from
+experience that wild horses would not drag out of Johnson anything that
+astute detective had made up his mind to conceal.
+
+"I suppose it's the old man you're after, this time?" he hazarded.
+
+"Guessed right the first time, old chap.  I want to have a few minutes'
+conversation with his lordship.  That's why I wrote asking you if you
+knew anything of his movements."
+
+"By gad! you are a deep 'un," cried Willet admiringly.
+
+"Thanks," said Johnson easily, but it was plain to see the compliment
+had not fallen on deaf ears.  "Well, now, you say he's back in town.  If
+I knock at the door in the course of half-an-hour or so, do you think
+I'm likely to find him in?"
+
+"It's a pretty safe find.  He hardly ever goes out when in London,
+drives down to the Carlton once or twice a week, and stays a couple of
+hours.  But anyway.  I'm pretty sure you'll find him in to-day, and I'll
+tell you for why."
+
+"Yes?" interrupted Johnson eagerly.  Willet was certainly invaluable in
+the way of giving information.
+
+"Her ladyship is giving a big party this afternoon--I think it's a
+philanthropic sort of hustle, in aid of some charity.  On these
+occasions he usually shuts himself up in his own den till the last
+carriage has driven away.  Then he comes out growling and cursing
+because his house has been turned upside down, and everybody gives him
+as wide a berth as possible."
+
+"He seems an amiable sort of person," observed Johnson.
+
+"Touched, my dear boy, touched," replied Willet, tapping his somewhat
+retreating forehead.  "And getting worse, so I'm told.  Triggs, his
+valet, told me yesterday it can't be long before they'll have to put him
+under restraint."
+
+"You've no idea where he's been the last few weeks, I suppose," was
+Johnson's next question.
+
+"Nobody has.  He seems to have done the same sort of disappearance as
+his wife, with this difference, that she did take her maid, and he left
+Triggs behind.  But he came back in the devil's own rage; been carrying
+on like a madman ever since.  Triggs is going to give him notice; says
+flesh and blood can't stand it."
+
+Johnson parted from his cousin with mutual expressions of esteem and
+good-will.  A few minutes later he was standing outside the open portals
+of Wrenwyck House, one of the finest mansions in Park Lane.
+
+A big party was evidently in progress.  Carriages were driving up every
+moment to take up and set down the guests.  Johnson could picture the
+beautiful hostess, standing at the top of the stairs, a regal and
+smiling figure.
+
+A humorous smile crossed his countenance as he recalled the one and only
+occasion on which they had met in the unpretentious lodgings on the
+Weymouth front.  Well, that was one of the things that never would be
+revealed to her circle, unless she chose to confide it to her bosom
+friend, Mrs Adair.
+
+He took advantage of a momentary lull in the restless tide of traffic,
+to accost a tall footman.
+
+"I want particularly to see Lord Wrenwyck, if he is at home," he said
+boldly.  "I daresay he will be at leisure, as I understand he shuts
+himself up when this sort of function is going on."
+
+The footman's manner showed that he was half contemptuous, half
+impressed.  With the unerring eye of his class he saw at once that
+Johnson was not of the class from which the guests of Wrenwyck House
+were recruited.  On the other hand, he seemed to possess an intimate
+knowledge of the private habits of its owner.
+
+"His lordship is in, but I should very much doubt if he will see you,"
+he said with just a touch of insolence.  "If you tell me your name and
+business, I will inquire."
+
+Johnson slipped a card into an envelope and handed it to this tall and
+important person.
+
+"I'm afraid my business is of too private a nature to communicate to a
+third party," he said quietly.  "If you'll have the goodness to hand
+that envelope to his lordship, and tell him my card is inside, I think
+it's very probable he will see me."
+
+Five minutes later the astonished menial returned, and the contempt of
+his bearing was somewhat abated.
+
+"Please follow me," he said, in a voice that was almost civil.  A moment
+later the detective was in the presence of the wealthy and eccentric
+peer.
+
+His immediate thought was that he had never met a more forbidding
+personality.  Hard, angry eyes, that shot forth their baleful fire at
+the slightest provocation, a long hawk nose, a cruel, sensual mouth,
+were the salient features of a face that instinctively gave you the
+impression of evil.
+
+His greeting was in accord with his appearance.
+
+"Explain at once, if you please, the reason of this extraordinary
+intrusion.  I see you come from Scotland Yard.  What the devil have I to
+do with such a place?"
+
+Johnson did not allow himself to be disturbed by the other's rough and
+insolent manner.
+
+"I have brought you a message from my chief, Mr Smeaton," he said, in
+his most urbane manner.  "I have no doubt you have heard of him."
+
+Lord Wrenwyck looked on the point of indulging in another angry
+explosion, but something in the steady gaze of the self-possessed young
+man seemed to momentarily disconcert him.  He only growled, and muttered
+something too low for Johnson to catch.
+
+"My chief, Mr Smeaton, occupies a very special position," resumed the
+imperturbable detective.  "In virtue of that position, he becomes
+acquainted with many curious facts, some of them connected with persons
+in high positions.  Some of these facts he has to make known, in
+accordance with his sense of public duty.  There are others which never
+go beyond his own cognisance and that of a few of his trusted
+subordinates.  I trust your lordship gathers my meaning, which I am
+trying to convey as pleasantly as possible."
+
+Lord Wrenwyck stirred his crippled limbs, and shook his fist
+vindictively at the other.
+
+"Come to the point, curse you, and spare me all this rigmarole."
+
+"To come to the point, my lord, Mr Smeaton requests your attendance at
+Scotland Yard, where he proposes to give himself the pleasure of a short
+conversation with you."
+
+The hard, angry eyes were now sullen and overcast, but they were no
+longer defiant.
+
+"Suppose I tell you and your precious Mr Smeaton to go to the devil!
+What then?"
+
+"I don't think either of us will hasten our journey in that direction on
+account of your lordship's intervention," replied Johnson with ready
+humour.
+
+He paused a moment, and then added with a gravity that could not be
+mistaken: "The arm of the law is very long, and can reach a great
+nobleman like yourself.  Take my advice.  Lord Wrenwyck.  Let me convey
+you in a taxi to Scotland Yard, to interview my chief.  Come voluntarily
+while you can," he paused and added in significant terms: "Believe me,
+you won't have the option after to-day."
+
+Cursing and growling, the crippled peer stood up, and announced his
+readiness to accompany this imperturbable young man.  A few minutes
+later, he and Smeaton were face to face.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+On the evening of that day, Sheila and Wingate dined together at a small
+restaurant far removed from the haunts of the fashionable world.
+
+Thanks to the strange and unexampled circumstances, their courtship had
+been conducted on very unconventional lines.  But to-night an
+unobtrusive maiden aunt of Wingate's played propriety.
+
+At an early hour, they left the restaurant.  The maiden aunt was first
+dropped at her modest house in Kensington, and then the car took them to
+Chesterfield Street.
+
+When Grant had opened the door, Wingate had put out his hand in
+farewell.  He was always punctilious and solicitous about the
+conventions, in Sheila's unprotected position.
+
+But she demurred to this early parting.  "It is only a little after
+nine," she told him.  "You must come in for five minutes' chat before
+you go."
+
+What lover could refuse such an invitation, proffered by such sweet
+lips?  As they were going up the staircase to the drawing-room.  Grant
+handed her a letter.
+
+"It was left about an hour ago by that young person.  Miss; the one who
+wouldn't leave her name."
+
+She opened it, and, after perusal, handed it to her betrothed.  "Oh,
+Austin, what can this mean?"
+
+Austin Wingate read the brief words: "There is a great surprise in
+store.  It may come at any moment."
+
+They sat down in silence, not trusting themselves to speak, to hazard a
+conjecture as to this mysterious message.  At such a moment, so tense
+with possibilities, they almost forgot they were lovers.  And while
+trying to read in their mutual glances the inmost thoughts of each
+other, there came the faint tinkle of the door-bell.
+
+Sheila started up as her ears caught the sound.  "Listen, Austin!  Who's
+that?" she asked breathlessly.
+
+A few moments later they heard old Grant open the door.  Next second a
+loud cry of alarm rang through the house.  The voice was Grant's.
+
+Austin, hearing it, dashed from the room and down the stairs.
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
+
+CONTAINS MANY SURPRISES.
+
+Wingate, hearing Grant's cry as he opened the hall-door, had only
+reached the head of the stairs, followed by Sheila, when he met the
+faithful old butler rushing towards him, crying--"Oh, Miss Sheila, we
+have--we have a visitor!  Come down."  _In the hall stood Reginald
+Monkton_!  He was sadly and woefully changed from the alert, vigorous
+man from whom his daughter had parted on that fateful night which seemed
+so far distant.  The once upright figure was stooping with fatigue and
+weariness, his face was thin and shrunken, his fine eyes, that used to
+flash forth scorn on his opponents, had lost their brilliant fire.
+Behind him stood Mrs Saxton, dressed in a sober garb of grey.
+
+As he caught sight of Sheila, a broken cry escaped from him: "At last,
+at last, my beloved child."
+
+Sheila sprang forward, and in a moment they were locked in each other's
+arms, tears of happiness raining down her face.
+
+For some seconds nobody spoke a word.  Austin Wingate was trying hard to
+control his emotion.  Grant, in the background, was crying like a child.
+Then Mrs Saxton advanced, her own eyes dim with the pathos of the
+scene--of this sudden reunion of father and daughter.
+
+"I have brought him back to you," she said, in a voice that trembled.
+"But he is very weak and ill.  Let us take him to the library at once.
+You shall learn everything from me."
+
+Tenderly, the two, Sheila and her lover, led the poor, worn man to the
+room in which he had spent so many happy hours, Mrs Saxton following.
+They placed him in the big arm-chair, and his daughter knelt beside him.
+Wingate standing in front.
+
+Then suddenly, the girl pointed a trembling finger at the woman gowned
+in grey, and her eyes took on a hard, steely look.  "What has she to do
+with it?" she asked, hoarsely.
+
+Almost in a whisper came her father's words: "Everything; she had to do
+with it from the beginning.  But listen to her; for without her aid I
+should not be here to-night; perhaps I should never have been here, or,
+if so, such a hopeless wreck that life would have been no blessing."
+His voice broke as he ended, and he raised Sheila's hand to his lips.
+
+And then Mrs Saxton spoke, at first hesitatingly, and in tones that
+trembled with her terrible emotion.  But as she went on her courage came
+back, and she enunciated her words clearly and distinctly.
+
+"I know you must hate me.  Miss Monkton, and I deserve your hatred.
+Perhaps, later on, you will judge me a little less harshly, in
+consideration of the fact that I repented at the eleventh hour, and
+saved him from these fiends who were bent upon his undoing."
+
+Sheila and Wingate regarded her intently, but neither spoke a word to
+relieve her embarrassment, or give any indication that they regarded her
+with anything but the deepest loathing.
+
+"Mr Monkton and I have been to Scotland Yard, and seen Smeaton, the
+detective.  I know from him that you are acquainted with all the actors
+in this tragedy, including myself.  He has told me of your coming across
+me at the post-office, of your reading the telegram which I sent to
+Brighton to the man known as Bolinski, who is now in the hands of
+justice, along with the partner of his crime."
+
+She paused a moment, and then resumed her narrative in the midst of a
+chilling and hostile silence.
+
+"My connection with it all arose from my intimate acquaintance with the
+man Stent.  It would not interest you to know how I fell under his
+influence and domination; it would reflect too much discredit on both--
+on him who persuaded, on me who yielded.  You know already that Stent
+and Bolinski were the two men who abducted your father.  What you do not
+know is that this plan was maturing for, at least, a couple of years.
+Further, you do not know that they were not the instigators, but the
+instruments of this outrage."
+
+"And their motive?" questioned Wingate sharply.
+
+A bitter smile crossed the young woman's face.  "A motive ever dear to
+men of their criminal and rapacious type--greed!  Offer them a big
+enough bribe, and they are the willing tools of the man who lures them.
+Scruples they have none."
+
+"And who was the instigator?" questioned Wingate again.
+
+"I will come to that all in due course.  But more than half-a-dozen
+times they tried to put their scheme into execution, and failed on every
+occasion but the last, through a series of accidents.  I did not know
+this for some time after I came upon the scene, when it was revealed to
+me by Stent, in a moment of unusual confidence."
+
+Here Sheila interrupted.  "We know that these two put the dying man
+dressed in my father's clothes in the taxi.  Presently you shall tell us
+who that man was, and why he was sent.  But first let us go back a
+little before that.  Why did my father dine at the Italian restaurant
+with Bolinski?"
+
+Reginald Monkton lifted his hand.  "I will explain that, if you please,
+Mrs Saxton.  I received a letter from this man, signed with an assumed
+name, stating that he could supply me with some important information
+that would be of the greatest possible use to the Government.  He
+insisted that absolute secrecy must be observed on his part for fear of
+unpleasant consequences, and suggested Luigi's restaurant in Soho as the
+rendezvous.  I have had information offered me in this way before, and
+did not entertain any suspicions.  I guessed him to be a needy
+adventurer who would sell his friends for a consideration, and walked
+into the trap."
+
+"He kept up the _role_ of the informer I suppose?" queried Wingate.  He
+was perhaps just a little surprised that a man of the world and an
+astute lawyer should not have had his doubts as to the genuineness of
+the letter.
+
+"Perfectly, to all appearance.  He told me various things about
+well-known people which, if they were true, would most certainly be
+useful.  He assumed perfect frankness; he did not suggest that I should
+credit his statements till I had fully investigated them, and named a
+fairly modest sum in the event of my being satisfied.  Of course, I now
+see that the whole thing was a pretence.  He invented a lot of so-called
+facts to justify his having invited me to meet him."
+
+Both Sheila and Wingate looked puzzled.  Mrs Saxton broke in:
+
+"Of course, I see what is presenting itself to your minds.  What object
+had he in meeting your father at all, when to all appearances they had
+carefully laid their plans in another direction?  Well, their first idea
+was this, that, given a proper amount of luck, they might effect his
+capture outside the restaurant.  But there were too many people about,
+and Mr Monkton was too quick for them.  I told you just now they had
+tried to carry out their plan before in half-a-dozen likely places."
+
+Wingate nodded.  "Yes, I see.  It was one, probably, of several
+alternative schemes which they had ready for the same evening.  Now,
+Mrs Saxton, will you tell us who was the dying man they put into the
+taxi and what was their object in putting him into Mr Monkton's
+clothes?"
+
+He looked at her steadily; it was with difficulty he could put any
+civility into his tones as he spoke.  But she had turned King's
+evidence, and he was bound to recognise the fact.  The less he showed
+his hostility, the more he would get out of her.
+
+"It was not for a long time that I was able to piece together certain
+facts which enable me to answer your question," replied the woman, who
+had now perfectly recovered her composure.
+
+"He was.  I believe, an Irishman by birth, with no friends or relatives
+in the world.  He had been mixed up with Stent and Bolinski for years,
+and he knew too much.  They knew he was a dying man when they put him
+into the cab.  Their object was to get him off their hands, to let him
+die elsewhere."
+
+"But why did they dress him up in Mr Monkton's clothes," queried
+Wingate.
+
+"I suppose, in order that the superficial likeness might enable him to
+be earned into the house, where he was bound to collapse.  He had been
+an inmate of Bolinski's house for some time, and I expect for his own
+reason Bolinski did not wish him to die there."
+
+Wingate shuddered at a sudden idea that had occurred to him.  "Do you
+think they gave him anything, any drug to hasten his death?" he asked
+hesitatingly.
+
+"Who ran tell?  They had no scruples, though I cannot honestly say I
+know of any instance in which their callousness led them to take human
+life."
+
+"Can you account for his repeating the word `Moly' before he died?"
+
+Mrs Saxton shook her head.  "Perhaps you did not catch the word aright.
+I know he had been privy to this scheme.  Perhaps, in his wandering
+state, he was trying to pronounce the name Monkton, and you mistook the
+first syllable.  I can offer no other explanation."
+
+There was a brief pause before Wingate spoke again.
+
+"You were on very early in the scene, were you not?"
+
+Mrs Saxton bowed her head in assent.  "To my shame I was.  Stent made
+out to me at first that they were getting Mr Monkton away for a brief
+space to render him harmless.  They were connected with some schemes
+abroad, so he said, which Mr Monkton was using his powerful influence
+to thwart.  I believed him, not knowing the real instigator.  I called
+on Miss Monkton, as you will remember, for the purpose of pumping her,
+of finding in what quarter suspicion was directed."
+
+"Yes, we know that.  And what part did your brother play in it all?"
+
+A shade of embarrassment crept into her manner.  She was willing to
+sacrifice Stent and Bolinski, but it was natural she should shield her
+brother as far as she could.
+
+"He believed the first story they told him, which at the beginning
+imposed upon me.  He kept watch for them in a way, told them what he
+could pick up of the various rumours flying about.  He was in a state of
+great alarm one night, when some Member of the House of Commons had told
+him that Mr Monkton was acquainted with a man of the name of Stent."
+
+Reginald Monkton lifted his head.  "It is true.  I had known him
+slightly for some years, as a man connected with one or two companies,
+respectable ones, in which I had shares.  I had no idea that he made the
+greater part of his money by fraud."
+
+"And what became of Mr Monkton that night?" asked Wingate, turning to
+Mrs Saxton.
+
+"They caught him unawares, as he was walking from the House, threw a
+cloth, saturated with a stupefying drug, over his face, put him in a
+cab, driven by a confederate, and took him to Bolinski's house.  They
+then took off his outer clothes, put them on the person you call the
+dying man, who could only just walk, and rushed back to Westminster.
+There they got out, waited a few seconds, hailed a taxi, put him inside,
+and directed the driver to take him to Chesterfield Street.  The rest of
+that episode you know."
+
+"And when was it that you went to Forest View, and masqueraded in the
+guise of a parlourmaid?"
+
+A burning colour crept into her face at the question.  It was easy to
+see that she was feeling her position acutely.  It was some seconds
+before she could control herself sufficiently to order her speech.
+
+"They had moved him very speedily from Bolinski's to the house of one of
+their confederates.  Then they took him down to Horsham, where Stent had
+a house.  He came to me one day and said the affairs in which they were
+interested were maturing slowly.  He had hoped to release Mr Monkton
+very quickly, but owing to the delay it was absolutely necessary they
+should keep him in custody until the _coup_ came off.  They kept him in
+a secret room there--what is called the priest's room.  A woman they
+trusted had been obliged to go abroad.  Would I take her place?  He said
+it would only be for a short time."
+
+"And you went?" cried Sheila, with a withering glance.
+
+The woman's voice was almost inaudible, as she answered with bowed head:
+"Yes, I went, but I swear that when I did so I did not know what was
+really meditated."
+
+They looked at her in horror, and Wingate repeated the words, "what was
+really meditated."
+
+"Yes," she said, almost in a whisper.  "It was a refined cruelty, the
+invention of a cunning and malignant mind.  Their object was to break
+down his reason, to reduce him to a condition worse than that of death
+itself, and then to restore him to his home and child, shattered in
+health, mind and reputation."
+
+CHAPTER THIRTY.
+
+THE MYSTERY SOLVED.
+
+At those dreadful words, spoken in a low, vibrating voice, a shudder ran
+through the listeners.  Sheila laid her head upon her father's shoulder,
+and sobbed unrestrainedly.  Wingate uttered a cry of horror.
+
+"And whose was the devilish mind that conceived this awful thing, and
+what was the motive?" he cried, when he had recovered from his
+stupefaction.
+
+"You will know directly, but it is best I should tell the story in my
+own way, and in proper sequence.  Well, I went to Forest View, to look
+after Mr Monkton.  I may say that Stent never went near him himself,
+for fear of recognition.  I found that he was being treated with drugs,
+so as to keep him more or less in a state of torpor.  When I saw what
+was being done, I was horrified, and remonstrated.  But Stent was always
+plausible, told me the effect was temporary, and that as soon as he
+could fix the time for his release, he would give him antidotes that
+would speedily restore him to his normal state.
+
+"I very shortly conceived the idea of liberating him, but the means were
+hard to discover.  Stent distrusted everybody, and it was only by
+acceding to all his humours that I was able to worm anything out of him.
+Half-a-dozen times he permitted me to administer the drug during his
+absence.  It was one of his own preparation--for he was among other
+things a most skilled chemist.  On these occasions I gave your father
+but a small portion of the dose intended for him.  By these means I
+revived his benumbed faculties, and was able to assure him that I was
+his friend, and was eagerly seeking the means of restoring him to
+freedom.
+
+"Then one day, when Stent was in an unusually good temper, he came to
+me, with that evil smile on his face which I had learned to know and
+dread.  `A curious thing is going to happen to-morrow.  A man is coming
+here to stay for a little time.  Can you guess what he is coming for?'
+Of course, I answered I could not.
+
+"`He will stay here under an assumed name, but he is rather a great
+personage in his own world.  He will want, if I know him aright, to go
+to Monkton's room every day, and gloat over his handiwork.'
+
+"It was imprudent of me, but I could not help blurting out, `Yours as
+well as his.'
+
+"His smile grew more evil as he said, `I am afraid you are a little too
+tender-hearted for this world, my dear.  Anyway, I am paid a big price
+for the job, and you know I never refuse money.'
+
+"I saw my mistake, and pretended to fall in with his mood, and succeeded
+in winning him back to amiability.  I expressed great curiosity to know
+the real name of the man who, to use his own expression, was coming down
+`to gloat over his handiwork.'  To this day I shall never know what
+caused him to satisfy it.  But at last he told me."
+
+Sheila and her lover gazed at the pale-faced woman intently.  In their
+eagerness they almost forgot their loathing.
+
+"The instigator of his abduction, the man who hired this fiend to carry
+out his deadly, malignant revenge, is a man well-known, wealthy, a peer
+of the realm.  I daresay you have heard of him.  He is called Lord
+Wrenwyck."
+
+Sheila gasped at this astounding revelation.  "The husband of the
+popular Lady Wrenwyck, who in her youth was a celebrated beauty?"
+
+Then she turned to her father, whose pale, worn face cut her to the
+heart.  "But, dearest, what was his motive for such a dastardly deed?"
+
+Monkton spoke in a low voice, but he did not meet his daughter's eyes.
+"A fancied wrong, my child.  We crossed each other many years ago, and
+he has brooded over it till he grew half insane, and thought of this
+scheme of vengeance."
+
+"But you will have him punished," cried his daughter loudly.  "You must!
+You cannot mete out to him what he has done to you, but you will deal
+with him as the law allows you."
+
+Monkton turned uneasily in his chair.  "It is the dearest wish of my
+heart to bring him low, but, in my position, one cannot afford scandal.
+In a few weeks I shall be restored to my old place, to my old strength.
+That there has been a mystery is only known to a few.  To the public,
+Reginald Monkton has recovered from a brief illness induced by
+overstrain and over-work.  It is better so."
+
+Sheila gazed at him almost wildly.  "That is your resolve.  But it seems
+to me folly; forgive me if I question your decision, if I criticise
+you."
+
+For a moment the glances of Wingate and Mrs Saxton met, and they read
+each other's thoughts.  Monkton must let Lord Wrenwyck go unpunished; it
+would be political death to him to have that old folly brought into
+public gaze.
+
+He interposed hastily.  "Dearest Sheila, your father is right.  I
+understand his reasons perfectly.  He is not an ordinary man.  If he is
+to keep his position, he must forgo the revenge to which he is so justly
+entitled."
+
+Sheila looked at him with puzzled eyes.  Austin was wise beyond his
+years, but surely he was wrong in this.  She pressed her hand to her
+head, and murmured faintly, "I do not understand.  But I suppose it must
+be as you say."
+
+Mrs Saxton went on swiftly with her story.
+
+"According to all accounts.  Lord Wrenwyck is half insane.  He had been
+mixed up with some financial transactions with Stent, and had taken the
+man's measure, had satisfied himself that he would carry out any
+villainous scheme, so long as he was well paid for the risk.  He it was
+who suggested the abduction of Mr Monkton, the systematic drugging at
+Forest View, where he would come in while his unhappy prisoner was
+asleep, and watch him with a fiendish smile spreading over his repulsive
+countenance."
+
+At this point Sheila raised her hands with a gesture of despair.  "And
+yet this fiend is to go scot-free, and live to work further evil."
+
+"He will not do that," said Mrs Saxton quickly.  "Smeaton, after our
+interview, compelled him to go to Scotland Yard.  Depend upon it.  Lord
+Wrenwyck will not risk his fate a second time.  He will be rendered
+powerless by the fact that his cunningly laid scheme was frustrated, and
+also that it is known to those who could set the law in motion at any
+moment they chose."
+
+And again Sheila murmured, "You may be right, but I cannot understand."
+
+"I am coming now to the end of my story," Mrs Saxton continued, after
+this interruption.  "I was walking one day into Horsham, and was
+accosted by a young man who seemed desirous of striking up an
+acquaintance.  I rebuffed him, of course, and learned afterwards that he
+made similar advances to the young woman who was supposed to be my
+fellow-servant.  At once it struck me that he was spying upon us.  He
+lodged at a small inn a little distance away, and gave out that he was
+an artist.  I mentioned the matter to Stent, but he rather laughed at
+the idea; told me I had got detectives on the brain.  He was destitute
+of nerves himself, and had an exaggerated belief in his own capacity to
+outwit everybody.
+
+"Pondering upon the means by which I could extricate my patient--if I
+may call him so--from a position which I felt convinced was growing more
+perilous, the idea of using this young man came into my mind.  Day after
+day I impressed upon Stent that my fears were well grounded, and that at
+any moment he might be faced with discovery.  At last I invented a story
+that I had seen this man who called himself Franks standing outside the
+house with another person, obviously a detective, and had heard the
+latter say distinctly; `Smeaton himself thinks we have given them rope
+enough.'
+
+"You know the story of the removal in the dead of night?"
+
+She addressed her question to Wingate, appreciating the fact that he
+showed his hostility less plainly than did his sweetheart.
+
+The young man nodded.  "Yes, we know that."
+
+"Stent was at last impressed, and agreed that we must leave Forest View
+as quickly and secretly as possible.  Stent and the other maid--Lord
+Wrenwyck had left us by then--travelled in the van.  I drove Mr Monkton
+in the motor by a roundabout route--I may tell you I am an expert
+driver.  My destination was supposed to be the house of the confederate
+where he had first been taken.
+
+"The game was now in my hands, and I knew I could play it.  I drove to a
+different place altogether, some miles from London.  I had, fortunately,
+plenty of money with me.  We stayed at an hotel for the night.  Next
+morning we came up to London and took up our quarters in a small inn at
+Hampstead."
+
+"What did you do with the car?" asked Wingate.
+
+"We left it at a garage close to the hotel where we stayed the first
+night, promising to come back for it in a couple of hours.  There, no
+doubt, it is still."
+
+"And the next step when you got to London?" was Wingate's next question.
+
+"Owing to the cessation of the drugs, Mr Monkton's faculties were
+swiftly restored.  He was weak and ill from his long confinement, but he
+could think clearly.  His first impulse was to come home at once.  I
+dissuaded him from this till he had gone to Smeaton and sought his
+advice.  I felt also it was imperative to get rid of Stent and Bolinski
+in case they meditated further mischief.  It happened that the means
+were in my power, means which I should not have used except in an
+extreme case.  Information in my possession, which I placed at the
+disposal of Scotland Yard, enabled the authorities to arrest them on a
+criminal charge.  That you have heard, or will hear."
+
+She paused a moment, and Sheila spoke.
+
+"You drove up to Chesterfield Street the other night with a companion."
+
+"Your father.  He was longing to come back, and to humour him I
+suggested we should come for a few minutes as far as the house."
+
+"And the portrait of Lady Gladys that was sent me?  That was my father's
+idea, of course.  And to make sure, you sent that young woman to tell me
+what to do.  But I had guessed before she came."
+
+"That young woman was a friend of mine, who knows nothing about the
+general circumstances.  I simply made use of her for this particular
+purpose."
+
+There was a long pause.  Wingate was the first to break it.  He had no
+kindly feelings towards this woman who was ready to betray her old
+associates when it suited her own interests.  Still, he could dissemble
+better than Sheila.
+
+"You have cleared up all except one thing, Mrs Saxton.  What of the
+Italian who died at Forest View, and the man Whyman who disappeared
+after Smeaton's visit to him at Southport?"
+
+"They were both members of a rather wide fraudulent partnership which
+included Stent and Bolinski.  Roselli was evidently seized with remorse
+on his deathbed, and, much to Stent's chagrin, conveyed a message in
+Italian which the young man Franks in his turn conveyed to Smeaton.  Had
+Stent guessed the nature of that message, he would have found some means
+to keep Franks out of the house.  In consequence of my information, the
+police are searching for Whyman now."
+
+This extraordinary woman was, by now, perfectly calm and collected.
+What her inmost feelings were, it would be impossible to guess, but
+apparently she felt no shame in avowing that she had betrayed her old
+friends.
+
+There was an embarrassing silence till she spoke again.  "I have now
+concluded my story.  If there is nothing more you wish to ask me, I will
+go."
+
+Sheila rose, her face cold and hard.  "Nothing more, Mrs Saxton.  My
+father will, of course, reward you for the help you gave him, as you
+have put it yourself, at the eleventh hour.  He has no doubt arranged
+that with you already.  You will understand that now I want him to
+myself."
+
+"I quite understand."  Without another word, she bowed and left the
+room, her bearing not devoid of a certain dignity, which might, or might
+not, have been the result of callousness.
+
+Left to themselves, Sheila breathed a sigh of relief.  "The air is
+sweeter for her departure," she said simply.
+
+Then she knelt down again, and laid one hand tenderly on her father's
+shoulder.  The other she extended to Wingate, and drew him towards her.
+
+"Father, dearest," she said in her sweet, low voice, "I have a secret to
+tell you, and I could not tell it on a better night than this.  Austin
+and I love each other.  You do not know what he has been to me during
+this terrible time.  You will let us be happy?"
+
+Very gentle and kindly was the smile that met her upturned face.
+
+"My darling, you are the dearest thing on earth to me.  Could I refuse
+you anything on such a night as this?"  He turned to the young man.
+"Austin--give me your hand."
+
+He placed it in Sheila's, and drawing his daughter to his breast, kissed
+her.  "Dearest, I wish you to follow where your heart leads you.  And I
+think you have chosen well."
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+THREE MONTHS LATER.
+
+Reginald Monkton, restored to his normal health and strength by the
+devoted ministrations of his daughter, resumed his place in the House.
+And six months after that happy event the wedding bells rang for Sheila
+and Austin Wingate, heralding the dawn of a bright future for these
+sorely tried lovers.
+
+Of the other personages in the story but little remains to be told.
+Stent and Bolinski, with their accomplice, Whyman, were tried at the Old
+Bailey and found guilty of extensive and far-reaching frauds, and
+condemned to a long term of penal servitude.
+
+Mrs Saxton, enriched by the handsome reward bestowed upon her by
+Monkton, left England for abroad.  Farloe disappeared also, and
+doubtless rejoined his sister under another name.  Varney still retains
+his _penchant_ for the detection of crime, but so far has not achieved
+any notable success.
+
+The beautiful Lady Wrenwyck was speedily relieved from the yoke that had
+galled her for so many years.  A few months after the failure of his
+diabolical scheme to revenge himself upon his hated rival, her husband's
+mind, already tottering became unhinged.  He developed symptoms of
+homicidal mania, and was placed under restraint.  The doctors pronounced
+it an incurable case.
+
+Caleb Boyle, thanks to the kindness of Wingate, who had taken a great
+fancy to him, fell upon his feet.  He was offered and accepted a post in
+the big aeroplane works, at a salary that placed him far above the reach
+of want.
+
+For, reviewing all the efforts made by himself, Varney, and the trained
+detectives of Scotland Yard, Austin felt that some reward was due to the
+man, erratic and ill-balanced as he might be, who had come nearest to
+the solution of the mystery of "The Stolen Statesman."
+
+The End.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Stolen Statesman, by William Le Queux
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41130 ***