lady had called acouple of days ago, and asked for half-a-dozen portraits of Lady Gladys.On account of the Grandcourt House Bazaar, there had been a great runon the photos of the various stallholders, he explained. They happenedto have a few copies of this particular picture in stock. The ladypurchased six and took them away with her, saying that "they were forreproduction in the illustrated newspapers and the usual copyright feewould be paid."
"Can you give me a description of the person who bought them?" wasSmeaton's first question, when Mr Kester had concluded his story.
"My assistant who served her is a very intelligent girl. Let us haveher in."
Kester 'phoned and requested Miss Jerningham to be sent to him. Thefluffy-haired young lady remembered the incident perfectly, anddescribed the dress and appearance of the young woman who had bought thephotographs.
If her description was to be trusted, it was the same person who hadasked to see Miss Monkton and refused to leave her name.
Smeaton, who had grown so utterly tired of theories and clues, began tobelieve he was on something tangible at last.
He rejoined Sheila, but he did not say much.
"I shall follow this clue," he told her. "The photo was sent for apurpose, and that woman knows why it was sent. I believe you will hearfrom her again, unless I scared her away."
"Mr Smeaton, do tell me what you really think. I am sure there issomething curious in your mind," implored the agitated Sheila.
But the detective was not to be charmed from his reserve.
"I must think over it a lot more yet. Miss Monkton, before I can hazardany opinion," he told her in his grave, deliberate way. "If I were toreveal any half-formed idea that is running through my brain, it is oneI should have to dismiss as inapplicable to the circumstances as I seethem at present."
From that he would not budge. Sheila drove away with a heavy heart.Wingate came round to dinner that night, and they talked about nothingelse. The only thing they could arrive at with any certainty was thatthe mysterious visitor, the young woman dressed in navy blue sergecostume, was the sender of the photo. But that did not help them todiscover the reason she had sent it.
That night Sheila lay awake, very depressed and anxious, still puzzlingover this latest mystery. Presently she dozed, and then, after a fewmoments of fitful sleep, woke with a start. Was it in that brief dreamthat some chords of memory had been suddenly stirred of a conversationheld long ago between her father and a young man named Jack Wendover, asecond secretary in the diplomatic service at Madrid?
Jack Wendover had told him of an ingenious method of communicationinvented by a married couple, who were spies in the pay of a foreignGovernment. She could hear him explaining it to Reginald Monkton, asshe sat up in the dark, in that semiconscious state between dreaming andwaking.
"They were clever. They wouldn't trust to ciphers or anything of thatsort, when they were separated; it was much too commonplace. They senteach other photographs. The receiver cut the photograph down, and foundbetween the two thicknesses of cardboard a piece of tissue paper, uponwhich was written the message that the sender wished to convey."
She could hear her father's hearty laughter, as he said: "Truly, a mostingenious method. Has that really been done?"
She had not been reminded of that for nothing, she felt sure. Why hadthis sudden recollection of an old conversation come to her in the deadof the night, if not for some purpose?
The photo was still lying upon her desk in the morning-room. The housewas quite quiet. Grant slept in the basement and the maids and thefootman were at the top of the house.
She rose, slipped on a dressing-gown, and lighted a candle. Thennoiselessly she descended the stairs and reached the morning-room. Shetook a small penknife from the drawer of her desk, and carefully splitthe mount of the photograph.
When she had finished, a piece of tissue paper fluttered to the floor,and upon that paper was a message.
As she read it she held her breath. Her beautiful eyes grew soft andmisty, while a lovely flush crept over her fair features. Tenderly,almost reverently, she raised the flimsy paper to her lips.
"Not even to Austin," she murmured, in a voice that was half a sob."Not even to Austin--dear as he is to me--not even to him."
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE STORY OF THE PORTRAITS.
Austin Wingate was sitting in his office the next morning. The post hadbeen unusually heavy, and he had a busy day in front of him. In view ofthe pressure of business which he saw was impending, he was about toring up Sheila to tell her that he would not come to Chesterfield Streetto dinner, as had been arranged, but would see her later in the evening.She, however, rang him up first.
"I want to see you as soon as you can possibly get away," she told him."Something very wonderful has happened; I can't tell you over the'phone. Can you come to lunch--or before, if possible?"
No true lover puts his business before his sweetheart. He repliedunhesitatingly that he would be with her inside a couple of hours. Thatwould give him time to attend to his most pressing correspondence. Therest, or that portion of it which could not be delegated to hissubordinate, must wait till to-morrow.
Sheila had changed her mind. Overnight she had resolved not tocommunicate that wonderful message even to him. Had it not enjoined herto the strictest secrecy?
But on calmer reflection other thoughts had prevailed. The sender ofthat message did not know of the relations between them. Austin was apart of her life, her second self. How could she keep such an importantthing from him, from the lover who had encompassed her with such tenderdevotion through this terrible time?
"Dear, kind Austin," she murmured, as she thought of the readiness withwhich he had acceded to her request. "He never fails me in theslightest thing. No girl could ever have a truer lover."
In two hours he would be here, and she could show him the paper on whichwas written that mysterious message. How should she get through theinterval? The minutes seemed as if they would never pass.
She was sitting in the cosy library where her father had spent most ofhis time when at home. What long chats they had enjoyed together inthat dear old room. Her eyes filled with tears as she recalled thosehappy days, which, alas! seemed so far away. She was aroused from herreveries by the entrance of Grant.
"The young person who called the other day, and refused to leave hername, is here. Miss," he told her. "She won't give any name now;merely says she would like to see you for a few minutes. I have shownher into the drawing-room."
Sheila's face flushed with excitement. Hurriedly she went upstairs toher mysterious visitor.
The dark-haired young woman rose at Sheila's entrance. It was easy tosee she was terribly nervous.
"I am speaking to Miss Monkton, am I not? I must apologise forintruding upon you, but I shall not keep you more than a few seconds. Icame just to ask you, to know if--if--" she stammered so that she couldhardly get her words out.
"You wanted to know if--?" repeated Sheila encouragingly. She wasterribly excited herself, but the calmer of the two.
"Did you receive a portrait of a friend of yours, Lady Gladys Rainham,the envelope containing it directed in a strange handwriting?"
"I did receive that portrait. At the time I did not notice thehandwriting. I concluded it had been sent me by Lady Gladys herself."A sudden light dawned upon Sheila, as she spoke. "It was you who sentit, was it not?"
"Yes, it was I, acting upon instructions."
"By whom were those instructions given?" asked Sheila eagerly.
The young woman's manner was more embarrassed than ever. "I am verysorry, but that I must not tell you. Later on, I daresay you will knowall."
"But you have something more to tell me, surely?"
"Yes. That photograph was sent for a purpose. I called the other day,but you were out. It contains a message. Cut it in two, and you willfind a letter inside."
"I have already done so," was Sheila's reply. "When my
friend LadyGladys denied having sent it to me, I puzzled and puzzled over it. Andthen, I think it must have been in a dream, I recalled something thathad happened long ago which set me on the right track. I wentdownstairs in the night, cut the photograph as you suggested, and foundthe message inside."
The mysterious visitor looked towards the door, and made a movement ofdeparture.
"My task is done then, and I will detain you no longer."
But Sheila stayed her impetuously. "But you will not leave me soabruptly. You can understand my terrible anxiety. You will relieve itby telling me what you know."
In her agitation, she laid her hand upon the arm of her strange visitor,but the young woman freed herself, and advanced towards the door.
"I can understand and sympathise with you," she said in a