her voice when she spoke. She was either perfectlystraightforward, or as cool a hand as he had ever met.
"You are interested in Mr Stent? How strange! Gentlemen of yourprofession do not generally interest themselves in other persons withoutsome strong motive, I presume?"
"The motive is a pretty strong one. At present, other interests requirethat I do not divulge it," replied Smeaton gravely. He was pleased withone thing, he had already got the name of the man; he preferred not toconfess that he did not know it. And her frank allusion to him as MrStent 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," hewent on. "But, if you are at liberty to do so, I should like you totell 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 verylittle. I suppose going away together in a taxi appears to argue acertain amount of intimacy. But in this case it is not so. I know nextto nothing of Mr Stent. He is not even a friend, only a man whoseacquaintance I made in the most casual manner. And, apart from twooccasions about which I will tell you presently, I don't suppose I havebeen in his company a dozen times."
It was a disappointment, certainly, and this time Smeaton did notbelieve she was speaking the truth. In spite of the silvery laugh andthe apparently frank manner. But he must put up with what she chose togive him.
"Do you mind telling me how you first made his acquaintance, MrsSaxton?"
"Not in the least," she replied graciously. "Two years ago I wasstaying in the Hotel Royal at Dinard. Mr Stent was there too. Heseemed a very reserved, silent sort of man, and kept himself very muchaloof from the others, myself included, although, as I daresay you haveguessed, I am of a gregarious and unconventional disposition."
She gave him a flashing smile, and Smeaton bowed gallantly. "I shouldsay you were immensely popular," he observed judiciously.
"Thanks for the compliment; without vanity, I think I may say mostpeople take to me. Well, one day Mr Stent and I found ourselves alonein the drawing-room, and the ice was broken. After that we talkedtogether a good deal, and occasionally went to the Casino, and tookwalks together. He left before I did, and I did not meet him again tillnext year at Monte Carlo."
"Did you learn anything about his private affairs, his profession oroccupation?"
"Not a word. The conversation was always general. He was the last manin 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 inMentone; 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 theRooms, but appeared quite unconcerned. Since then I have met him abouta dozen times, or perhaps less, at different places, mostly restaurants.Yesterday he came through the palm-court, as I was sitting there afterlunch, and we exchanged a few words."
"Did you not see him at lunch; you were both there?" questioned Smeatonquickly.
"I saw him at a table some distance from mine, but he did not see me. Imentioned that I was going back to Hyde Park Mansions. He said he wasdriving in the direction of St John's Wood, and would drop me on hisway. He left me at the entrance to the flats."
Smeaton rose. He knew that if he stopped there for another hour hewould get nothing more out of her.
"Thanks very much, Mrs Saxton, for what you have told me. One lastquestion, and I have done. Do you know where he lives?"
There was just a moment's hesitation. Did she once know, and had sheforgotten? Or was she debating whether she would feign ignorance? Hefancied the latter was the correct reason.
"I don't remember, if I ever knew, the exact address, but it issomewhere in the direction of St Albans."
Smeaton bowed himself out, and meditated deeply. "She's an artfulcustomer, 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 thetrack of the bearded man."
CHAPTER SIX.
JUST TOO LATE.
Mr Smeaton was not a man to waste time. Within ten minutes of hisarrival at Scotland Yard he had sent two sergeants of the C.I.Department to keep Mrs Saxton under close surveillance, and to note thecoming 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 remainedat home. The only visitor had been a young man, answering to thedescription of James Farloe, her brother. He had called aboutdinner-time, and left a couple of hours later.
For the moment Smeaton did not take Farloe very seriously into hiscalculations. Mrs Saxton would tell her brother all about his visit,and to interrogate him would be a waste of time. He would tell himnothing more about Stent than he had already learned.
He had noticed, with his trained powers of observation which took inevery detail at a glance, that there was a telephone in a corner of thesmall hall.
If her connection with the mysterious Stent were less innocent than shehad led him to believe, she would have plenty of time to communicatewith this gentleman by means of that useful little instrument.
Later, he instructed a third skilled subordinate to proceed the nextmorning in a car to St Albans, and institute discreet inquiries on theway. Afterwards, he thought of the two amateur detectives inChesterfield Street, and smiled. Sheila was a charming girl,pathetically beautiful in her distress, and Wingate was a pleasant youngfellow. So he would give them some encouragement.
He wrote a charming little note, explaining what he had done with regardto Mrs Saxton. He suggested they should establish their headquartersat a small restaurant close by, lunch and dine there as often as theycould. If occasion arose, they could co-operate with his own men, whowould recognise them from his description. He concluded his letter witha 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 somethingtowards the unravelling of the mystery.
In this supposition he was destined to be agreeably disappointed in thenext few hours.
Wingate, after reading the letter, escorted Sheila on a small shoppingexpedition in the West End. They were going to lunch afterwards at therestaurant in close proximity to Hyde Park Mansions.
The shopping finished, Wingate suddenly recollected he must send a wireto the works at Hendon, and they proceeded to the nearest post-office inEdgware Road.
It was now a quarter to one, and they had settled to lunch at oneo'clock, so they walked along quickly. When within a few yards of thepost-office, Sheila laid her hand upon his arm.
"Stop a second!" she said in an excited voice. "You see that womangetting out of a taxi. It is Mrs Saxton. Let her get in before we goon."
He obeyed. The elegant, fashionably-attired young woman paid thedriver, and disappeared within the door. The pair of amateur detectivesfollowed on her heels.
Sheila's quick eyes picked her out at once, although the office was fullof people. Mrs Saxton was already in one of the little pens, writing atelegram.
Unobserved by the woman so busily engaged, Sheila stepped softly behindher, and waited till she had finished. She had splendid eyesight, andshe 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 ofpeople. She had only met the woman once, but it was just possible shemight remember her if their glances met.
Mrs Saxton took the telegram to the counter, and they heard her ask howlong it would take to get to Brighton. Then, having received an answerto the query, which they could not catch, she went out.
They looked at each other eagerly. They
had made a discovery, but whatwere they to do with it?
"Ring up Smeaton at once, and tell him," suggested Sheila. "He willknow what to do."
After a moment's reflection, Wingate agreed that this was the propercourse. While they were discussing the point, the man himself hurriedin. 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 hadseen her stepping out of the taxi. Smeaton went on to explain.
"I looked round this morning to see how my men were getting on, andfound 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 pickedup another taxi, and drove as hard as I could. My fellow kept the otherwell in sight, but just as we were gaining on her, I was
The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery Page 8