heapedcoals of fire upon their heads, and denounced them as "enemies ofImperialism and destroyers of Empire." The House listened enthralled.
He spoke for no more than a quarter of an hour, but it was one of themost brilliant oratorical efforts ever heard in the Lower Chamber, andwhen he reseated himself, amid a roar of applause from the Governmentbenches, it was felt that the tide had been turned and the Oppositionhad once more been defeated.
Hardly had Monkton sat down when, remembering that he had guests athome, he rose and walked out.
He passed out into Palace Yard just before ten o'clock and turned hissteps homeward, the night being bright and starlit and the airrefreshing. So he decided to walk.
Half-an-hour after Cicely and her husband had left Chesterfield StreetSheila again rang up the House and made further inquiry, with the sameresult, namely, that the Colonial Minister had left Westminster justbefore ten o'clock. Monkton had been seen in St Stephen's Hallchatting for a moment with Horace Powell, the fiery Member for EastIslington, whom he had wished "good-night" and then left.
So for still a further half-hour Sheila, though growing very uneasy, satchatting with Austin, who, be it said, had made no further advances. Helonged to grasp her slim white hand and press it to his lips. But hedared not.
"I can't think where father can be!" exclaimed the girl presently,rising and handing her companion the glass box of cigarettes. "Look! itis already one o'clock, and he promised most faithfully he would be backto wish the Wheelers farewell."
"Oh! he may have been delayed--met somebody and gone to the clubperhaps," Austin suggested. "You know how terribly busy he is."
"I know, of course--but he always rings me up if he is delayed, so thatI need not sit up for him, and Grant goes to bed."
"Well, I don't see any necessity for uneasiness," declared the youngman. "He'll be here in a moment, no doubt. But if he is not here verysoon I'll have to be getting along to Half Moon Street."
Through the next ten minutes the eyes of both were constantly upon theclock until, at a quarter-past one, Wingate rose, excusing himself, andsaying:
"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 thehall, where Sheila helped him on with his coat.
"Well--good-night--and don't worry," Austin urged cheerfully as theirhands met. The contact sent a thrill through him. Yes. No woman hadever stirred his soul in that manner before. He loved her--yes, lovedher honestly, truly, devotedly, and at that instant he knew, by somestrange intuition, that their lives were linked by some mysteriousinexplicable bond. He could not account for it, but it was so. He knewit.
By this time Grant had arrived in the hall to let out Miss Sheila'svisitor, and indeed he had opened the door for him, when at that samemoment a taxi, turning in from Curzon Street, slowly drew up at the kerbbefore 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 theassistance of the driver succeeded in getting out the unconscious formof the Colonial Secretary.
"I'd send the lady away, sir--if I were you," whispered the taxi-driverto Wingate. "I fancy the gentleman 'as 'ad just a drop too much wine atdinner. 'E seems as if 'e 'as!"
Amazed at such a circumstance Sheila, overhearing the man's words, stoodhorrified. Her father was one of the most temperate of men. Such ahome-coming as that was astounding! The three men carried the prostratestatesman inside into the small sitting-room on the right, after whichAustin, completely upset, handed the taxi-man five shillings, and with abrief word of thanks dismissed him.
Meanwhile Sheila had rushed into the dining-room to obtain a glass ofwater, hoping to revive her father. Old Grant, faithful servant that hewas, had thrown himself upon his knees by the couch whereon his masterhad been placed.
He peered into his pale face, which was turned away from the silk-shadedelectric light, and then suddenly gasped to Wingate: "Why! It isn't MrReginald 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 foryourself!"
CHAPTER THREE.
THE WHISPERED NAME.
Austin Wingate approached the unconscious man, and scrutinised thewhite, drawn features closely. When Grant had uttered those words, hecould hardly believe his ears. Had the shock been too much for the oldman's reason?
But as he gazed intently, the conviction grew upon him that Grant wasright. There was a little resemblance between the Cabinet Minister andthe insensible man lying there. Their figures were much the same, andin the half-light a mere cursory glance could not have detected themapart.
But to those who, like Grant and Austin, knew Reginald Monktonintimately, 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 shespilled the glass of water she was carrying, came into the sitting-room.
Austin rushed towards her and, taking the glass from her, pressed hertrembling hand. At a moment of acute tension like that, he knew shewould not resent the action.
"Sheila, for God's sake keep calm. It is not what we thought. The manwe carried in here is not your father. He is a stranger, wearing yourfather's clothes. Look for yourself, and you will see where thelikeness ends."
"Not my father?" she repeated mechanically, and flung herself downbeside Grant. A moment's inspection was enough to convince her. Sherose from her knees.
"Thank God!" she cried, fervently. It had cut her to the heart to thinkthat the father whom she so loved and revered should be brought home insuch a condition. She was grateful that none but those three had beenpresent.
But to her gratitude succeeded a sudden wave of fear, and her face wentpaler than before.
"But, Austin, there must be some terrible mystery behind this. Why isthis man wearing father's clothes? And why--" she broke suddenly into alow 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 couragetill we can discover more," he murmured soothingly. "Now I must go and'phone for the doctor. In my opinion, this man is not suffering fromexcess, as that driver led us to believe. He appears to be in a dyingstate."
When he had gone to ring up the family doctor, who lived close by inCurzon Street, Sheila again knelt down beside the prostrate form.
Presently the man's lips began to move and faint sounds issued fromthem. He seemed trying to utter a name, and stumbling over the firstsyllable.
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 louderand they thought they heard the name "Molyneux."
"Oh, if only he could wake from his sleep or lethargy!" Sheilaexclaimed impatiently. "If he could only throw some light upon thisawful mystery?"
He relapsed into silence again, and then presently recommenced hismutterings. This time, he pronounced the syllables even less clearlythan before. And now they fancied the name was more like "Mulliner."
Would he come back to consciousness and be able to answer questions, orwould those be his last words on earth? They could not tell. His formhad relapsed into its previous rigidity and his face had grown morewaxen 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 setti
ngout that evening.
A sudden thought struck her. She inserted her hand gently in hiswaistcoat pocket, and drew out a gold watch. It was her father's; shehad given it to him on his last birthday. She felt in the breast pocketof his coat, but it was empty. That told her little, for she did notknow if he had taken any papers with him.
She felt in his pockets one by one, but only discovered a little loosesilver. It was her father's habit always to carry a few banknotes in aleather 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 sherecollected it was inscribed with his name.
While she was pondering these disturbing queries. Doctor Macalisterentered the room with
The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery Page 4