The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery
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blocked, andlost three minutes. She came here, of course, to send a wire. But itis only a little delay. I can get hold of that wire very shortly."
"But there is no need," cried Sheila triumphantly. "At any rate, forthe present. I looked over her shoulder, and read every word of it. Iwill tell it you."
She repeated the words. He had showed obvious signs of vexation athaving just missed the woman he was hunting, and now his brow cleared.
"Very clever of you. Miss Monkton--very clever," he said inappreciative 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 downearly this morning to St Albans, where I believe he lives. I shouldsay Herbert is another man altogether." The young people readilyaccepted the professional's theory. They recognised that they were onlyamateurs.
There was a long pause. They stood humbly waiting for the great man tospeak, this man of lightning intuition and strategic resource.
It seemed an interminable time to the expectant listeners before heagain opened his lips. Before he did speak, he pulled out his watch andnoted the time.
"This may be important, and we cannot afford to lose a moment," he saidat length. "How do you stand, Mr Wingate, as regards time? Can youspare 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 thepost-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 Herberthas not been before you--and I should guess it is an unexpectedmessage--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 youto look in for it, so as to make sure."
"I see," said Wingate. He felt an increased admiration for theprofessional detective. He was not quite sure that he would have beenready with this glib explanation.
"I should love to go too," said Sheila, looking wistfully at theever-resourceful Smeaton, whom she now frankly accepted as the disposerof their destinies.
"Forgive me if I oppose you this once, my dear Miss Monkton," he said inhis kindest and most diplomatic manner. "Two are not always company indetective 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, hereare a couple of my cards; one to show the post-office if there isanything awkward--this for the chief constable of Brighton if you haveneed of his assistance. I will scribble an introduction on it." Hesuited 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 holdof that wire."
There was no resisting his powerful personality. He controlled thesituation like an autocrat.
"Stay, just one thing more. I shall be at Scotland Yard till seven, andat home about eight. Here is my private 'phone number, if unseendevelopments arise."
He thought of everything, he foresaw the improbable. They were lost inadmiration. At the moment of departing, he rather damped theirenthusiasm 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, andWingate was out of the post-office, and into a taxi, en route forVictoria.
He thought of her all the time he was travelling to Brighton. In theselast few days her great sorrow had brought her very near to him. He hadread her disappointment when Smeaton had forbidden her to accompany him.But she would not resent that on him; she knew he was working in herinterests, that his one thought was to help in solving the tragicmystery that was clouding her young life.
The train arrived at Brighton punctual to the minute, and mindful ofSmeaton's remark that delay was dangerous, he drove straight to thepost-office.
He was, in a certain sense, elated with the mission that had beenentrusted him, through the mere accident of Smeaton not having had timeto put his hand on an experienced man. But he felt some trepidation ashe walked through the swing-doors. Surely people who set forth ondetective work must have nerves of steel and foreheads of triple brass.
He bought some stamps first, not because he wanted them, but in order toscrew up his courage to sticking-point.
A sharp-featured, not too amiable-looking young woman served him. Whenhe had completed his purchase, he asked in as cordial a voice as hecould 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 apresent of at starting. He proceeded to retail it for the young woman'sbenefit.
She smiled a sour smile, and he felt his face flush. Decidedly hewanted more experience.
"Nothing doing this time," she said insolently, in a rasping cockneyvoice. "You'd better hurry up next time. The real owner of thetelegram took it away half-an-hour ago!"
CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE MYSTERIOUS MRS SAXTON.
After Wingate's hurried departure, Smeaton put Sheila into a taxi, andquickly took his way back to Scotland Yard. Here he found a noteawaiting him from the Home Secretary, requesting him to step round tothe Home Office.
They knew each other well, these two men, and had been brought togetherseveral times on affairs of public importance. Before he had thrown allhis energies into politics Mr Carlingford had been one of the mostsuccessful barristers of the day. His intellect was of the keen andsubtle order.
He was, of course, profoundly interested in the mysterious disappearanceof his colleague, the Colonial Secretary, and had sent for the detectiveto talk over the matter.
"Sit down, Smeaton. Have you any news? I know you are not a man to letthe 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, ofthe 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 StAlbans. One of my best sergeants is down there to-day, makinginquiries. 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 wasindebted 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. Iremember she introduced herself to me, telling me that her brother wasMonkton's secretary. My impression at the time, although I don't knowthat I had any particular evidence to go on, was that there was just alittle 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 headmitted he was the best secretary he ever had. I always thought therewas something shifty and underhand about him."
They talked for a few moments longer, exchanging probable and possibletheories, and then Smeaton rose to take his leave.
"Well, Mr Carlingford, thanks to your kind help we have been able tokeep it out of the Press so far. I hope our inquiries will soon bearsome fruit," he said, and then left the room.
Sheila had gone home feeling very sad and lonely. All her plans for theday had been
upset by Wingate's sudden journey to Brighton.
She had looked forward to spending some hours in the society of herlover. The excitement of the detective business in which they proposedto 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 sheconfronted the apparently insoluble problem of her beloved father'sdisappearance.
Her luncheon finished, she went into her own dainty little sitting-roomand tried to read. But she could not focus her attention. Her thoughtsstrayed away from the printed page, and at last she flung down the bookimpatiently.
"I wish that I had insisted on going down to Brighton with Austin," shesaid to herself. "I think I must get out. I shall go mad if I stopwithin these four