friend. I want to be somewhere else about that time."
He had drunk a good deal during the interview, and Farloe knew that hewas getting into one of those dare-devil moods, in which it was ratherdangerous to play with him, or to cross him.
"As you please," he said, a little sullenly. "I hope you are quiteright in your confidence that they have not got on our tracks yet."
"Make your mind easy, my dear chap. Your sister took care of that byputting our friend Smeaton on a wrong scent. I have often laughed whenI thought of them hunting every nook and corner around St Albans forthe gentleman with whom she had only a casual acquaintance."
Farloe made no reply. Stent held out one hand, and with the otherclapped the young man on the shoulder with rough good humour.
"Good-night, old man. Go to bed and sleep soundly, for I'm going. And,I say, don't bring me out again on a midnight ride like this unlessthere is very strong reason. Now, just a last word--and I say it in allseriousness--I am not a bit discouraged by what you have told me. Letthem smell about, but they'll find nothing."
He turned to the door, and fired a parting shot:
"Now, you follow my advice not to give way to idle fancies, and you'llturn out as well as any of us. And we shall all be proud of you. Onceagain, good-night."
As he spoke the last word, the telephone bell rang, and he paused, andturned round.
Farloe looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
"Past three, by Jove! There's only one person would ring me up at thistime of night. It's Maude. Perhaps it is important; you had betterstay a moment," he said.
Stent stayed. Farloe took off the receiver, and listened for a littletime to the voice at the other end. Although Stent could notdistinguish the words, now and then he caught an inflection that herecognised. Farloe's conjecture was right. It was Mrs Saxton who hadrung him up.
Then Stent heard the young man's reply.
"Hold on a minute, he is here. He was just going when you rang."
He beckoned to Stent. "She wanted me to send you word that she wishedto meet you. You can arrange it with her yourself."
They talked for a few seconds. At one of her remarks Stent laughedheartily. He turned to Farloe.
"She is suggesting that we don't make it the Knightsbridge TubeStation." Then he turned again to the instrument.
"That was a capital move of yours; your brother has just been telling meabout it. Really, I think just now it might be as convenient a place asany; they would never think you would have the cheek to go there againso soon. Let us meet at the old spot. That's safe enough. To-morrowthen. All right. Good-bye."
CHAPTER TWELVE.
THE OCCUPIER OF FOREST VIEW.
When Mason, Detective-Sergeant, C.I.D., with crestfallen air narratedthe history of his adventures with the elusive Mrs Saxton, he hadexpected his chief to indulge in a few sarcastic comments. But Smeatononly shrugged his shoulders expressively. After all, he had come offonly second best in his encounter with her himself.
"A very clever woman, Mason," he said, after some hesitation. "I foundthat out at the start. It means she has made a bolt of it. It will besome time before Hyde Park Mansions sees her again."
He was right. Three days elapsed, and the fugitive did not return. Onthe fourth, Mason, acting in accordance with instructions, went boldlyup to the flat and rang the bell.
The neat-looking maid told him that her mistress had gone abroad.
Mason affected to be very much put out. "Dear me, it's very annoying.I wanted to see her on most urgent business. Can you oblige me with heraddress?"
"She didn't leave one, sir. She said she would be back in a month orsix weeks, and would be travelling about from place to place all thetime. She told us that any letters could wait till her return."
Mason observed her sharply while she gave this information in quite anatural manner. She seemed a simple, innocent kind of girl. Of course,she might be in league with the escaped woman, but he was ratherinclined to believe she was telling the truth.
Mrs Saxton had begun to find the atmosphere a trifle uncomfortable, andhad duped her servants with this story of going abroad, he reasoned withhimself. She might give London itself a wide berth, but she wassomewhere near where she could be in pretty close touch with herfriends. Of that he was certain.
Things, therefore, were at a deadlock as concerned Stent and this woman.
Meanwhile, young Varney, confident that Farloe was a mysterious andimportant connecting link, kept a steady watch upon the chambers inRyder Street.
For the first three days his exertions went unrewarded. But on thefourth he followed Farloe in a taxi to the Great Eastern Hotel, inLiverpool Street, where he was joined by a man whom, by his stronglymarked aquiline features and piercing eyes, he suspected to be theelusive Stent.
When the pair left the hotel, he followed them. It was the luncheonhour, and the city streets were crowded. For full five minutes he keptthem in sight, and then he became separated and lost them.
On the second occasion he was more fortunate. About three o'clock oneafternoon the pair came forth from Farloe's chambers, and togetherwalked leisurely, talking earnestly the while.
As far as Victoria Station they went together to the Brighton line.There they parted. The elder man entered the booking-hall of the Londonand Brighton line, and asked for a ticket to Horsham. Varney did thesame.
It was a slow train, and half-empty. When Horsham was reached, onlythree passengers alighted: himself, the man he was watching, and a youngwoman.
He inquired of the ticket-collector if at any place near he could hire acycle, as he thought of coming down for a week's holiday, and would liketo explore the country for an hour or so.
The man directed him to a shop close by. He seemed a very civil youngfellow, and Varney chatted with him for a few seconds.
"By the way," he said, as he moved away. "That gentleman who went outjust now--isn't he Mr Emerson, the well-known barrister?"
The young man shook his head. "No, sir. Mr Strange has recently cometo live here, about five months ago. He's taken Forest View, anold-fashioned house a mile and a half away."
"Curious," remarked the amateur detective, in a voice of well-feignedsurprise. "Really, how very easily one may be mistaken. I see MrEmerson three or four times each week, and I could have sworn it washe."
The ticket-collector smiled civilly, but made no reply. He was notinterested in this sudden creation of Varney's lively imagination.
The journalist crossed to the cycle shop and there hired a machine,paying down the usual deposit. He wheeled it until he met a small boy,from whom he inquired the whereabouts of Forest View.
He was on the right road, the boy informed him. The house with greeniron gates lay on the left-hand side. His machine would take him therein a few minutes.
However, he did not mount it, as in that case he would quickly overtakeMr Strange, who was proceeding there on foot. He preferred that thisgentleman should get there first, so as to give him an opportunity ofhaving a good look round.
Twenty minutes' easy walking brought him to the big iron gates of ForestView. He had seen the man disappear within, about a couple of hundredyards in front of him. There was not a soul in sight; he couldreconnoitre at his leisure.
The house, old-fashioned, low and rather rambling, lay well back fromthe white high road, at right angles to it. A thick hedge led up towithin a few feet of the entrance. It seemed to boast a fair piece ofground, at least three acres. The entrance to some rather dilapidatedstabling was lower down the road.
He felt a sense of triumph. Smeaton, he knew, was still searching forStent, and he, the amateur, had forestalled him. Was he right, afterall, in his surmise that by some curious lapse the man of widerexperience had left Farloe out of his calculations, and the man Stentwas identical with the man Strange?
His survey finished, he mounted his machine, and rode along, thinkingout his plans.
"Find
a nice comfortable inn somewhere near, but not too close, pose asan artist out for a brief holiday, and find out all there is to be foundabout the mysterious Mr Strange," was the result of his meditations.
A mile lower down the road he came upon a small, old-fashioned inn, witha swinging sign, and trailing roses over the porch and walls. There heentered, and called for some refreshment.
"Thirsty with your ride--eh, sir?" asked the landlord pleasantly.
"A bit, although I haven't ridden very far yet. I hired a machine inthe town in order to have a look round. I want a week's holiday badly,and I should like to hit upon some quiet quarters about here. It seemsa nice piece of country."
The landlord pricked up his ears. "Perhaps it's the George in Horshamyou might prefer."
"Oh dear no! I want an old-fashioned inn, like this. But I suppose youdon't take