he said. "There's not aninstant to be lost. I'll wait up for you, but don't delay a moment. Ican't talk over the 'phone, but the situation is very serious. Bring asuit-case. You may have to go to the Continent by the nine o'clocktrain in the morning."
He listened attentively to the reply.
"Eh--what? Oh!--yes. I sent a boy with a letter to Knightsbridgestation. She's got away all right. Do get here as quickly as you can--won't you? Leave your car in some garage, and walk here. Don't stopthe car outside. I'll leave the hall-door ajar for you. No--I can'ttell you anything more over the 'phone--I really can't."
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
MAINLY CONCERNS MR STENT.
James Farloe hung up the telephone receiver, and, lighting a cigar, satdown to think, while wailing for his visitor.
He was rather a good-looking young fellow, but, examined closely, hisface was not prepossessing. There was a certain furtive expressionabout him, as of a man continually on the watch lest he should betrayhimself, and the eyes were shifty. His sister was probably as insincereas himself, but, on the whole, she made a better impression.
He was too perturbed to sit for long, for, truth to tell, his thoughtswere not pleasant company. Two or three times he got up and paced theroom, with a noiseless stealthy tread that was characteristic of him.Then, tired of the monotony of waiting, he selected a book from thelimited store in a small revolving bookcase, and tried to read.
But the words danced before his unquiet eyes, and conveyed no meaning.Again and again he had to resort to his noiseless pacings of thethickly-carpeted room, to allay the tedium of waiting.
But the slow minutes passed at last. He drew out his watch, noted thetime, and drew a sigh of relief. It was one-thirty a.m.
"He can't be long now," he muttered. "At this hour of the night he canput on any speed he likes. He's an obstinate devil, but he would bepretty sure to start straight away, after my urgent summons."
Even as he spoke, the figure of a man in a motor-cap and heavy overcoatwas stealing quietly along Ryder Street. A moment more, and footstepswere heard on the stairs.
Farloe hastened to open the hall-door of his cosy little suite, andclosed it noiselessly after the entrance of his visitor. They nodded toeach other. The man advanced, and stood under the electric lightsuspended from the middle of the ceiling.
He was of medium height, well-dressed, and of gentlemanly appearance.He had aquiline features, and piercing dark eyes.
He was the man who had been identified by Davies the driver as one ofthe two who had put the dying man in his taxi at Dean's Yard, withinstructions to drive him to Chesterfield Street--the man known to thepolice, through the information given by Mrs Saxton, by the name ofStent.
They did not waste time in preliminary remarks or greetings; they wereprobably too old acquaintances to indulge in such trivial formalities,but proceeded to business at once.
"So she got clear away?" remarked the man known as Stent. "I alwayssaid she was one of the smartest women in England. How did she outwitthe detective?"
Farloe smiled. "It was beautifully simple," he replied. "She 'phonedme up in the morning to say she was starting in a few moments, and thatshe was sure this fellow would hang on to her as long as he could. Sheasked me if I could suggest any way of outwitting him. At the moment Icouldn't."
Stent darted a glance at his companion which was not exactly one ofappreciation. "Your sister is quicker at that sort of thing than you,"he said briefly.
Farloe did not appear to notice the slight conveyed in the words andtone, and went on in his smooth voice:
"I expect so. Anyway, she had it cut and dried. She was going to leadhim a nice little dance till it was time to get rid of him. She wouldtake him down to Piccadilly Circus, trot him about there for some littletime, and then get back to the Knightsbridge Tube Station."
"Yes--and then?"
"I was to send a boy with a note to the Tube station at a certain time.I picked up a boy, giving him a full description of her, and packed himoff. All happened as she expected. The man was tempted away by theboy, out of whom he could get nothing that would be of any use to him,and for a few moments left her unwatched. Hers was a bold stroke.While he was interviewing the urchin, she slipped into a descendinglift, and left Mr Detective glaring at her from outside."
Stent laughed appreciatively. "Well done!" he remarked. "But I have nodoubt she would have hit upon something else had that failed."
Farloe assented briefly. He was very fond of his sister, but it hadalways been rather a sore point with him to know that she had impressedeverybody with the fact that she was much the cleverer and subtler ofthe two.
There was a brief pause. Then Farloe pointed to the table, upon whichstood glasses, a decanter of whisky, and a syphon of soda-water.
"Help yourself, and sit down while we chat," he said pleasantly. "I'msorry to have brought you out so late."
Stent helped himself liberally to the spirit, took a long draught, andsat down in one of the two big saddle-bag chairs. When he had enteredthe room, Farloe had noticed certain signs of irritation. Perhaps thesoothing influence of the whisky helped to restore him to a more equableframe of mind. Anyway, when he answered Farloe his voice was quitesmooth and amiable.
"Yes, I was deucedly put out at having to start off at a minute'snotice. If I hadn't said good-bye to nerves long ago, you would havemade me feel quite jumpy, with your talk about bringing a suit-case withme, and having to cross the Channel. Now let me know the meaning of itall. I've brought the suit-case in the car. Tell me," he urged, fixingthe younger man with his keen piercing gaze. Farloe shifted a littleuneasily under that intense glance. Somehow, he never felt quite at hisease in Stent's presence.
"I haven't your nerves, or, rather the want of them, that I admit. Andperhaps I take fright a little too easily. Still, I think you ought tobe informed of this: that certain people are beginning to know--well--abit too much."
Stent's hard, resolute mouth curved in a smile that was halfincredulous, half contemptuous.
"Certain people always know too much--or too little. In this case, Ishould say it was the latter."
But Farloe stuck to his guns. "I was tackled to-night at the House bySir Archibald Turtrell. You know of him, of course?"
The other nodded. There was vindictiveness in his tone, as he replied:"A regular old cackler and bore."
"I don't dispute he is both, but that doesn't alter the fact that hepushed me very hard with some searching questions. I parried them asbest I could, but from his last remarks I could see he didn't believe aword I was saying."
Stent shifted uneasily in his chair; his ill-humour was evidentlyreturning.
"My dear Farloe, you must excuse me for saying that you don't always actwith the greatest discretion. Why the devil do you want to go to theHouse at all for, laying yourself open to be cross-examined by anybodyand everybody you meet? Look how differently your sister has acted; shehas lain as low as possible, and finally shown them a clean pair ofheels. I don't advise you to do exactly the same, for obvious reasons,but it would be advisable to keep very much out of the way till thingshave blown over."
The younger man was evidently not thin-skinned, or he would haveindulged in some outburst at those very candid remarks. Stent went on,in his hard, but not altogether unpleasant voice:
"It has often struck me that this sort of thing is not quite suitable toa man of your temperament. But now you are in it, you must cultivatethe art of keeping your nerves in better order, as I have done. Don'tstart at shadows. What you have told me doesn't disturb me in theleast; it is just what might be expected."
"You haven't forgotten that young beggar Varney is on the track?" put inFarloe quietly. "I saw him go into Monkton's house as late asyesterday. He is more to be feared than Smeaton, in my opinion."
"I don't care a snap of the finger for the young pup," cried the other,in his most obstinate voice, and a tightening of the resolute jaw thatwas so well
-matched with the dark, piercing eyes.
Farloe waited till his companion's momentary irritation had subsided,then he put a question.
"You are quite sure that the police have not traced you yet?"
"Absolutely," came Stent's reply. He added, in his grimmest manner;"I've not given them a chance."
They talked on for a long time, the elder man combating sometimes halfhumorously, sometimes with ill-concealed irritation, the pessimism ofthe other. At length when he rose it was nearly three o'clock.
"You will let me put you up for the night," urged Farloe.
"To be in time for the Paris train in the morning?" laughed the other."No, thanks, my
The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery Page 15