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

possessed three houses in the country, and livedin Park Lane. He was also twelfth Baron.

  Smeaton summoned one of his subordinates, a promising young fellow, keenat this particular kind of work, and showed him the page in the peerage.

  "I want you to find out as quickly as possible all you can about thisfamily. You understand, Johnson--every detail you can pick up."

  Detective-sergeant Johnson, qualifying for promotion, smiled at hischief and gave him his assurance.

  "I've had more difficult jobs, and perhaps a few easier ones, MrSmeaton. I'll get on it at once, and I don't think you'll bedisappointed," he said.

  Mr Johnson omitted to mention, with a reticence that must be commended,that a cousin of his was a footman next door to the Wrenwyckestablishment, and accustomed to look in of an evening at a selecthostelry adjacent to Park Lane.

  That same evening--for Johnson's methods were swift and sure--he waitedon his chief at Smeaton's house, with an unmistakable air of triumph onhis usually impassive features.

  "I have got up some facts, sir. I will read you from my notes. LadyWrenwyck was a girl when she married; her husband some twenty yearsolder. She was forced into the marriage by her parents, who were ofgood family, but poor as church mice. Her ladyship was a beautifulgirl, she soon went the pace, and had heaps of admirers, young and old.The husband, horribly jealous, thought he had bought her with his money.Terrible scenes between the pair, in which her ladyship held her own."

  Smeaton offered the subordinate his rare meed of praise. "You have donedevilish well, Johnson. Go on."

  Sergeant Johnson proceeded, refreshing himself from his notes. "Forseveral years past they have lived in a sort of armed truce. They livetogether, that is to say, in the same house, but they never exchange aword with each other, except before guests. If they have to holdcommunication, it is by means of notes, conveyed through the valet andthe lady's maid."

  "An extraordinary house, Johnson--eh?" interjected Smeaton, thinking ofhis own little comfortable household.

  "It's a bit funny, sir, to ordinary people, but in Society nothing isuncommon," replied Johnson. "Shall I go on with my notes?"

  "Please do," said Smeaton cordially. Johnson was of the youngergeneration, but he was shaping well. Perhaps it is possible thatyoungsters have a wider outlook than their elders.

  Mr Johnson read on, in a deferential voice:

  "His lordship is an invalid--suffers from some affection of the joints,an aggravated form of rheumatism, walks with a stick. Has been absentfrom Park Lane for a little time. Nobody knows where he is. Hisconfidential man of business, steward or secretary or something, runsthe house in his absence."

  "And her ladyship?" queried Smeaton eagerly.

  "I'm coming to that, sir. Her ladyship has been away for some time;travelling abroad they think. My informant gave me the date of herdeparture. Here it is, sir."

  Smeaton looked at the little pencilled note. He rose, and shook hissubordinate cordially by the hand, saying:

  "Really you've done more than well. You forget nothing, I see. I shallwatch your career with great interest. If I can push you I will. Youmay rely on that."

  Johnson bowed low at the great man's praise. "A word here from you, MrSmeaton, and I'm made in the Service."

  His voice faltered skilfully here, and he withdrew, leaving Smeaton tohis reflections.

  The great detective meditated long and carefully. He was not a personto jump hastily at conclusions. He sifted the actual from the obvious.

  One fact emerged clearly, and it was this: Lady Wrenwyck had left herhome, to which she had not returned, two days before the mysteriousdisappearance of Reginald Monkton--_two days_.

  That feather-headed fool, Caleb Boyle, had told him to "find the woman."Was the feather-headed fool right, and he, Smeaton, upon the wrongroad?

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

  SHADES OF SOHO.

  Wingate smiled as he read the flamboyant note from Caleb Boyle,accepting his invitation to dinner. It concluded with a characteristicflourish. "Trusting that our meeting may prove as agreeable to you, asit is in anticipation to myself. Yours sincerely, C. Boyle."

  It was a beautiful summer morning. His thoughts flew to hiswell-beloved. What was she doing at this particular moment? He couldguess too well. Sitting, with that far-away look in her dear eyes,brooding and lonely amid the ruins of her once happy home.

  He did not usually call so early, but to-day must be an exception. Abrilliant idea had occurred to the fond young lover; he hastened to putit into execution.

  She sprang up when he entered, and the light in her beautiful eyes, thefaint flush on her cheek, told him that he was welcome. The soft lipsreturned his fervent kiss.

  "We are going to take a holiday, darling," he cried gaily. "This is aperfect day; it's a shame to be stifled in London. We will run down bytrain to Shepperton. I'll get a boat and pull you to Hampton Court.We'll lunch there, and afterwards stroll round the gardens. Then I willbring you back home, I wonder if you remember that day--it seems such alittle while ago--when we first met?"

  "Shall I ever forget it?" she whispered softly. "I think, perhaps, Ifell a little bit in love with you then. And afterwards we met atHendon, and you came to call on us at Chesterfield Street. And my dearfather took a great fancy to you. And now--" she looked at him shyly,and did not finish the sentence.

  He took her in his arms and kissed her. "And now, my darling, we aresweethearts for ever and ever."

  A couple of hours later they were on the river. The beauty of the warmsummer day, the pleasurable excitement of the journey, the change ofscene, had momentarily lifted the shadows and induced forgetfulness.For that brief space she was her old joyous self, a girl in the gloriousfulness of her youth, living and beloved.

  Her thoughts were such as come to pure girls in such moments.

  As they glided down the placid stream, the golden afternoon warm andodorous with the mingled scents of the summer air, so would they journeythrough life together. She remembered how her father had adored hermother. Austin would be such another true lover to the end of his days.

  They returned to Chesterfield Street. She was loth to part with him andpressed him to stay to dinner. He pleaded a business engagement. Hecould not break faith with Boyle, although he was sorely tempted to doso.

  "You will be sure to come to-morrow?" she said, as she kissed himgood-night. It cut him to the quick to leave her alone in that sadhouse, but he had no choice. At all costs, he must keep Boyle away fromher.

  "Quite sure, my darling. You love me a little?" he whispered as theyparted.

  "Oh! so much," she answered with a sweet smile. "Didn't I tell you thismorning that I fell in love with you a long time ago? You have been sokind, so patient, so good. I fear I am a very sad sweetheart, but Iknow you understand. The ties between my dear father and myself were soclose. We were all the world to each other."

  He hastened away, more firmly resolved than ever that Caleb Boyle shouldnever put his foot in Chesterfield Street. That trusting heart mustnever be pierced by doubts of her father's rectitude.

  Wingate was a few minutes late at the club that evening. He found MrBoyle awaiting him, in the full glory of evening attire. His host couldnot help observing that the suit had seen good service, and that theshirt was frayed and dingy as to colour. But Boyle's ready assurancewas not in the least dashed by these circumstances. He advanced withoutstretched hand, and greeted Wingate in his usual fulsome manner.

  "I am sorry you troubled to dress, Mr Boyle. This is quite a Bohemianclub. I ought to have told you."

  Boyle waved a deprecatory hand. And his self-satisfied manner seemed toimply that, at this hour, evening attire was natural to him, and that hewould have assumed it in any case.

  They went in to dinner. Boyle began talking at once. He admired thedining-room, the service, the club and its arrangements generally.

  "It is some years since I entered these portals,"
he remarked in hispompous, affected manner. "I used to know some good fellows in the olddays."

  He named Jimmy this, Dicky that, and Tommy the other. Wingate notedthat all the members with whom he boasted acquaintance had joined themajority.

  "I belonged to a lot of Bohemian clubs when I first started my Londoncareer," he explained. "I was a member of the Garrick, and at theSavage I believe I am still remembered. Ah! that those good old dayscould come again."

  He heaved a deep sigh, and for a few minutes applied himself to the veryexcellent meal that was set before him. He ate heartily, consuming bigportions of each dish. His host had a shrewd notion that he hadeconomised in the matter of lunch.

  When dinner was over, they passed to the smoking-room, where Mr Boylevery speedily disposed of a few whiskies, taking