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 therank 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 hadbetrayed signs of nervousness and trepidation. He had hesitated andstumbled in his speech, so much so that Smeaton, the detective, wasstill in doubt as to his honesty.
Smeaton, however, was a past-master in the art of dealing with adifficult witness. So reassuring was his manner that at the end of fiveminutes 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 amplitudeof detail, that the man who had come out of the Savoy was of mediumheight and clean-shaven, with angular features and piercing dark eyes.He was of striking appearance, the kind of man you would be sure torecognise anywhere. The lady with him was smartly dressed and appearedto be about thirty or under.
"Seems to me I've known 'im about London for years, although I can'tremember as I ever drove 'im," he added.
The other man was, Davies said, tall and bearded, and certainly aforeigner, although he could not pretend to fix his nationality.
A tall, bearded man, and a foreigner! Smeaton pricked up his ears. Thedescription tallied somewhat with that of the person who had dined withMonkton 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 abloodhound.
Within twenty minutes of the taxi-driver's departure, he wasinterviewing one of the hall-porters at the Savoy, an imposingfunctionary, and an old friend.
Smeaton had a large and extensive acquaintance among people who could beuseful. He knew the hall-porters of all the big hotels. They were menof quick intelligence, keen powers of observation, and gathered muchimportant information. He had unravelled many a mystery with theirassistance.
The detective, standing aside in the hall, described the man as he hadbeen 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 aweek, and is popular with the waiters, through being pretty free withhis 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 getto know the names of the habitues sooner or later, but none of us haveever heard his. He never seems to meet anybody here that he knows, andnone of the waiters have ever heard one of his guests address him byname. The maitre d'hotel and I have often talked him over, and wonderedwho and what he was."
Smeaton showed his disappointment. "That is unfortunate. Let us see ifwe can be more successful in another direction. Yesterday afternoon,about three o'clock, this man, whose name we don't know, drove away fromthis place in a taxi, accompanied by a lady. My informant tells me shewas smartly dressed, and he puts her age at about thirty, or perhapsless."
The hall-porter indulged in a smile of satisfaction.
"I think I can help you there, Mr Smeaton. I was passing through thepalm-court at the time, and saw them go out together. We all know thelady very well. She is here pretty often. Sometimes she comes with abig party, sometimes with a lady friend, sometimes with a gentleman.Her name is Saxton, and she has a flat in Hyde Park Mansions. One ofher friends told me she is a widow."
"What sort of a person is she? How would you class her? She seems todress well, and is, I suppose, attractive."
The hall-porter mused a moment before he replied. Like most of hisclass, 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 Imean,--and rich middle-class who spend money like water."
"I see," said Smeaton. "And she lives in Hyde Park Mansions off theEdgware Road, or, to be more correct, Lisson Grove. She is evidentlynot rich."
They bade each other a cordial good-day, Smeaton having first expressedhis gratitude for the information, and left in the hall-porter'scapacious palm a more substantial proof of his satisfaction.
The next thing to be done was to interview the attractive widow. Beforedoing 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 conversationwith 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! Hebrought her once to one of our parties, and I remember she was verygushing. She begged me to go and see her at her flat, and I am prettycertain Hyde Park Mansions was the place she named, although I can't bepositive."
"Did you go. Miss Monkton?"
"No. As I have told you, I never liked Mr Farloe, and I liked hissister less. She was pretty, and I think men would find her attractive.But there seemed to me an under-current of slyness and insincerityabout her."
It was rather a weakness of Wingate's that he credited himself withgreat analytical powers, and believed he was eminently suited todetective work. So he broke in:
"Perhaps Miss Monkton and I could help you a bit, by keeping a watch onthis woman. I have time to spare, and it would take her out ofherself."
Smeaton repressed a smile. Like most professionals, he had little faithin the amateur. But it would not be polite to say so.
"By all means, Mr Wingate. We can do with assistance. 'Phone me up orcall at Scotland Yard whenever you have anything to communicate. Now, Ithink I will be off to Hyde Park Mansions and see what sort of acustomer Mrs Saxton is." A taxi bore him to his destination, and in afew moments he was ringing at the door of the flat.
A neat maid admitted him, and in answer to his inquiries said hermistress was at home.
"What name shall I say, please?" she asked in a hesitating voice. Heproduced his case and handed the girl a card.
"Of course, you know I am a stranger," he explained. "Will you kindlytake this to Mrs Saxton, and tell her that I will take up as little ofher time as possible."
After the delay of a few moments, he was shown into a prettydrawing-room, tastefully furnished. The lady was sitting at atea-table, and alone.
"Please sit down," she said; her tones were quite affable. She did notin the least appear to resent this sudden intrusion into her domesticlife. "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 interferewith business.
He explained that tea was a meal of which he never partook. MrsSaxton, it appeared, was a most hospitable person, and promptlysuggested a whisky-and-soda. He must take something, she protested, orshe 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 aglimpse 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 furnishme with it, if you are disposed to."
Mrs Saxton smiled at him very sweetly, and regarded him with eyes ofmild surprise. Ve
ry fine eyes they were, he thought. It was a pitythat she had taken the trouble to enhance their brilliancy by the aid ofart. She was quite good-looking enough to rely upon her attractions,without surreptitious assistance.
"How very interesting," she said in a prettily modulated, but ratheraffected 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 momentconsiderably interested in the gentleman with whom you left the Savoyyesterday afternoon in a taxi-cab."
There was just a moment's pause before she replied. But there were nosigns of confusion about her. Her eyes never left his face, and therewas no change in
The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery Page 7