The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery

by William Le Queux

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 isSaxton and that you know her, as she is Mr Farloe's sister. She saysshe has been here once, but I don't seem to remember her."

  Sheila was immediately interested. Their acquaintance was of theslightest. She recalled the incident at the post-office, and wonderedwhat was the object of the visit.

  "Yes, she came once to a big party. Grant. You have shown her into thedrawing-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 hardfeatures subdued to an expression of deep sympathy.

  "My dear Miss Monkton, I do hope you will not regard my visit as anintrusion," she exclaimed fussily. "But, owing to my brother'sconnection with your family, I was bound to know something of what hashappened. And I feel so deeply for you."

  Sheila replied with some conventional phrase, but her manner wasconstrained and cold. Mrs Saxton was acting, no doubt to the best ofher capacity, but there was an absence of sincerity in voice and glance.

  She had come, not out of sympathy, but for her own ends. Sheilaremembered what Smeaton had said, namely, that she knew a good deal morethan she chose to tell. She also remembered the telegram which had beendespatched a few hours ago. Was it possible Mrs Saxton had caughtsight of her at the post-office in Edgware Road after all, and had comewith 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 thananswer them.

  "What has Mr Farloe told you?"

  "Oh, as little as he possibly could. But although it has been verycleverly kept from the Press, rumours are flying about at the clubs, inthe House of Commons, everywhere. Your father has not been seen forseveral 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 steadilyat Mrs Saxton, who bore the scrutiny of those candid young eyes withabsolute 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 Yardofficial, of the name of Smeaton. He told me he was very muchinterested in a Mr Stent, whose acquaintance I happened to make abroada couple of years ago. I wonder if this Mr Stent happens to be afriend of yours, or your father's?" This time Sheila felt she couldmake a direct answer without committing herself. "I certainly do notknow the man myself. For my father I cannot, of course, speakpositively. In his position he must have known heaps of people, more orless intimately. But, as I have never seen him in this house, he couldnot 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 struckme after he had left that his visit might have been connected with thesad events that have happened here, and that he believed Mr Stent tohave been mixed up with them."

  "Were you able to give him any information?" asked Sheila quickly. Shethought it was her turn to question now.

  "Nothing, I am afraid, of any value. I had simply met him abroad at anhotel, in the first place, and came across him about a dozen timesafterwards. You know what a lot of people one picks up in that casualsort of way, people you know absolutely nothing about."

  Sheila agreed that this was a common experience, and after theinterchange of a few commonplaces, Mrs Saxton took leave. She renewedher expressions of sympathy, and begged Miss Monkton to make use of herin any way, if she thought she could render assistance.

  What had been the motive of her visit? To reiterate the slenderness ofher knowledge of the man Stent, so that the fact would be communicatedto Smeaton? Or had she hoped to find an artless and impressionablegirl, who would confide to her all that had been done, up to thepresent, to unravel the mystery of Monkton's disappearance?

  If so, she had signally failed. She had gone away, having learnednothing. And Sheila had put no questions herself, although she wasburning to ask her: "Who is that man at Brighton to whom you sent thetelegram 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, whoreported the failure of his attempt to get hold of the telegram, andasked for further instructions.

  The detective mused a few moments before replying. He placed little orno 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 happyto place himself entirely at Smeaton's disposal.

  "Thanks. In that case, I would ask you to keep a watch on thepost-office for as long as you think worth while. This fellow will bepretty certain to call again in an hour or two for another wire. Youmay depend their correspondence has not finished with that firsttelegram."

  So that was settled; it was a toss-up whether or not anything wouldresult from Wingate's observations.

  A little later one of the two men who were watching Hyde Park Mansionsreported that Mrs Saxton had driven to Chesterfield Street, andremained in Monkton's house for some twenty minutes.

  Smeaton at once rang up Sheila Monkton, and obtained particulars of thebrief interview, which confirmed his opinion that Farloe's attractivesister was engaged in some deep game.

  This opinion was further corroborated by the arrival of the detective hehad sent down to St Albans at an early hour that morning.

  This man had scoured the neighbourhood on his motor-cycle within aradius of twelve miles from the city of St Albans. Nobody of the nameof Stent was known, and so far as his information went, which he hadpicked up at various shops and local inns, nobody of that name had everbeen a resident, at any rate within the last four or five or six years.

  Smeaton cursed Mrs Saxton heartily. A really innocent woman might havemade a mistake. But he was sure in his own mind that thisinnocent-looking young person with the charming manners and thewell-bred voice had deliberately put him on a wrong scent.

  And for what motive? Perhaps in order to gain time. Well, he had losta few hours, but he intended to run Mr Stent to earth yet, without herassistance.

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  THE MAN FROM BOUNDARY ROAD.

  Austin Wingate's feelings as he left the post-office in Brighton caneasily be imagined. He had failed ignominiously in his mission, and thesarcastic young woman who had spoken so insolently to him was laughingat his discomfiture.

  It was some moments before he could sufficiently recover his composureto go to the nearest telephone--he did not dare to re-enter thepost-office so soon--and communicate with Smeaton.

  He was fortified by the detective's request to remain at his post forsome time longer, in the hope of turning a failure into something of apartial success. He lit a big cigar and prepared for a long vigil.

  He began to think there were certain discomforts attached to detectivework. He found himself commiserating the two unfortunate creatures whohad been appointed to keep watch at Hyde Park Mansions.

  He was better off than they in one important particular. They onlyworked for pay, not, probably, of a very munificent description. If hesucceeded, he would not only earn the praises of Smeaton, but he wouldbe rewarded with the tender light of gratitude in the beautiful eyes ofhis beloved Sheila.

  So he kept resolutely at his post, lounging up and down the street, withhis glance ever alert for any likely stranger who should come along.

  An hour passed, and t
hen the minutes went very slowly. He kept lookingat his watch. Smeaton was sure the strange man would come back for afurther communication. Putting himself in the man's place, he reasonedthat he had wired a reply to Mrs Saxton, and that he would allowhimself a certain time for his wire to reach London, and the return wireto 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 fromwhen he left the post-office. The insolent young woman had told himthat the wire had been fetched away half-an-hour before Wingate'sarrival.

  If this reasoning was correct, the man he was in search of would makehis appearance in about another ten minutes from the last time Austinhad 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 thepost-office.

  Another ten minutes had elapsed, and