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

case of an attractive young woman itwas wise to take precautions. They parted on the understanding thatthey would meet at the same place two nights later.

  They met at the time appointed, and there was an almost offensive air oftriumph about Mr Willet's demeanour that argued good things. Hestarted by ordering refreshment.

  "Now to business," he said, in his sharp, slangy way. "I've pumped Lilyall right, and this job seems as easy as falling off a house. Noletters have come from the lady, or gone to her, since she left, but--"he made a long pause here. "Every week a letter comes to Mrs Adairwith the Weymouth postmark on it and every week Mrs Adair writes to aMrs Marsh, whom Lily never heard of, and the letter is addressed to theWeymouth post-office. The writing on the envelope that comes to MrsAdair is not Lady W.'s. Do you tumble?"

  "It's a hundred chances to one that her ladyship is at Weymouth, and hermaid addresses the envelope," was Johnson's answer.

  "I say ditto. Mrs Adair's letter is posted every Thursday. To-day isWednesday. Put yourself in the Weymouth train to-morrow, keep a watchon the post-office next morning, and the odds are that letter will befetched by Lady Wrenwyck, or her maid."

  "Thanks to the portrait I know the mistress, but I don't know the maid.Describe her to me."

  Mr Willet produced a piece of paper and pencil. "I'm a bit of anartist in my spare time. I'll draw her for you so exactly that youcan't mistake her."

  He completed the sketch and handed it to his cousin. Later, they partedwith mutual expressions of good will.

  Friday morning saw Johnson prowling round the Weymouth post-office. Hehad to wait some time, but his patience was rewarded--he saw both LadyWrenwyck and her maid.

  After issuing from the post-office, they went together to several shops,strolled for a few minutes up and down the sea front, and then returnedhome.

  He had not expected to find them at a hotel, for obvious reasons. Hewas not therefore surprised when they entered one of the bigger housesfacing the sea. They wanted privacy, and their only chance of gettingthat was in lodgings.

  He snatched a hasty lunch, and kept observation on the house till aboutsix o'clock, in the hope that her ladyship would come out again with acompanion. But he was disappointed in this expectation.

  He made up his mind to force matters a little. He went up boldly to thedoor and knocked.

  "Is Mrs Marsh at home?" he asked the servant who answered the summons.

  The girl answered in the affirmative. "Who shall I say, please?" sheadded.

  "Wait a moment. Is she alone?"

  It was a random shot, but it had the effect he intended.

  "Quite alone. Mr Williams is very bad again to-day. He's in bed."

  Mr Williams! Just the sort of ordinary name a man would assume underthe circumstances.

  "She won't know my name. Just say a Mr Johnson from London wishes tosee her on urgent private business."

  As he waited in the hall, he wondered whether she would refuse to seehim? Well, if she did, it only meant delay. He would stay on atWeymouth till his business was done.

  The maid interrupted his reflections by calling over the banisters,"Will you come up, please?"

  The next moment, he was bowing to Lady Wrenwyck, who was seated in aneasy-chair, a book, which she had just laid down, on her lap. She was avery beautiful woman still, and although she sat in a strong light, didnot look over thirty-five.

  She received him a little haughtily. "I do not remember to have seenyou before. What is your business with me?"

  Johnson fired his first shot boldly. "I believe I have the honour ofaddressing Lady Wrenwyck?"

  Her face went a shade paler. "I do not deny it. Please explain yourobject in seeking me out. Will you sit down?"

  The detective took a chair. "You have no doubt, madam, heard of themysterious disappearance of an old friend of yours, Mr Monkton."

  He had expected to see her start, or show some signs of embarrassment.She did nothing of the kind. Her voice, as she answered him, was quitecalm.

  "I have heard something of it--some wild rumour. I am sorry for hisdaughter and his friends, for himself, if anything terrible hashappened. But why do you come to me about this?"

  It was Johnson's turn to feel embarrassment now. Her fine eyes lookedat him unwaveringly, and there was just the suspicion of a contemptuoussmile on her beautiful face.

  "I knew you were close friends once," he stammered. "It struck me youmight know something--he might have confided something to you."

  He broke down, and there was a long pause. For a space Lady Wrenwyckturned her face away, and looked out on the sea front. Suddenly shedivined his errand, and a low ripple of laughter escaped her.

  "I think I see the meaning of it all now. You have picked up someancient rumours of my friendship with Mr Monkton, and you think he iswith me here; that I am responsible for his disappearance."

  The detective was too embarrassed to answer her. He was thankful thatshe had seen things so quickly.

  "I don't know why I should admit anything to you," she went on, in acontemptuous voice, "but I will admit this much. There was a time whenI was passionately in love with him. At that time, if he had lifted uphis little finger I would have followed him to the end of the world. Henever asked me--he had water in his veins, not blood. That was in thelong ago. To-day he is nothing to me--barely a memory. Go back toLondon, my good man. You will not find Reginald Monkton here."

  Her scornful tone braced the detective, and dispelled his momentaryembarrassment.

  "Who then is Mr Williams?" he asked doggedly.

  "Oh, you know that, do you?--you seem full of useless knowledge. MrWilliams, an assumed name like my own, is my youngest and favouritebrother. There is a tragic family history which I shall not tell you.It suffices to say I am the only member of his family who has notsevered relations with him. He is very ill. I am here to nurse himback to health and strength."

  Johnson looked dubious. She spoke with the ring of truth, but thesewomen of the world could be consummate actresses when they chose.

  She rose from her chair, a smile half contemptuous half amused upon hercharming face.

  "You don't believe me. Wait a moment, and I will convince you."

  She left the room, returning after a moment's absence.

  "Follow me and see for yourself," she said coldly, and led the way intoa bedroom adjoining the room in which they had been talking.

  "Look here," she pointed to the bed. "He is asleep; I gave him acomposing draught an hour ago."

  Johnson looked. A man of about thirty-five, bearing a remarkablelikeness to herself, was lying on his side, his hand supporting hishead. The worn, drawn features spoke of pain and suffering from which,for the moment, he was relieved.

  The detective stole from the room on tiptoe, followed by Lady Wrenwyck."You know Mr Monkton by sight, I presume? Have you seen enough? Ifso, I beg you to relieve me of your presence and your insultingsuspicions." She pointed to the stairs with an imperious hand.

  Johnson had never felt a bigger fool in his life--he would have likedthe earth to open and swallow him.

  "I humbly apologise," he faltered, and sneaked down the stairs, feelinglike a whipped mongrel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  THE MYSTERY OF THE MAID-SERVANT.

  When Johnson reported himself to his chief at Scotland Yard he had in agreat measure recovered his self-possession. He had only failure to hiscredit, but that was not his fault. He had followed up the clue givento him with exemplary speed. The weakness lay in the unsubstantialnature of the clue.

  Smeaton listened to his recital, and made no caustic or petulantcomment. He was a kindly man, and seldom reproached his subordinates,except for instances of sheer stupidity. He never inquired into theirmethods. Whether they obtained their results by luck or judgment was noconcern of his, so long as the results were obtained.

  "Sit down. Let us talk this over," he said genially. "It was a clueworth follow
ing, wasn't it?"

  "Undoubtedly, sir," replied Johnson. "It was one of the fewalternatives possible in such a case. I assure you, sir, I set out withhigh hopes."

  "It's a failure, Johnson, but that's no fault of yours; you did all thatcould be expected. I have had my rebuff, too. I have tracked thewriter of the threatening letter, only to find he died two years beforeMonkton's disappearance. That was a nasty knock also. And yet that wasa good clue too--of the two, a trifle better perhaps than yours."

  Detective-sergeant Johnson made no answer. Smeaton looked at himsharply. "You would say that was something to work on, wouldn't you?"

  Johnson reflected a moment. When you are going to exalt your ownintelligence at the expense of your superior's intellect, it