falteringvoice. "But please do not press me, it is useless. I am under the mostsolemn promise to say no more. You must wait and be patient." Inanother moment she had left the room, leaving poor Sheila bewildered andtearful.
Austin Wingate came later, was told of the strange visitor, and shownthe message which had been contained in the photograph.
He took her in his aims and kissed her fondly. "My darling, you muststill be brave and patient," he said tenderly.
She looked up at him with her sweet smile. "I have waited so long,Austin, I can wait a little longer, always providing that you are hereto comfort me."
Wingate did not leave her till late in the afternoon. The day was toofar advanced for him to return to his office. He strolled to theWellington Club.
Just as he was going in, he caught sight of Farloe. He took a suddenresolve, and went up to the secretary, who did not seem too pleased tosee him.
"Good-day, Mr Farloe. May I walk with you a little way? There issomething I should like to ask you."
The young man assented, but by no means with a good grace. They hadtaken an instinctive dislike to each other from the first. They walkedtogether in silence for a few paces, and then Wingate suddenly blurtedout:
"What has become of Reginald Monkton? I know you could tell us, if youchose."
The secretary's face blanched to the lips. He tried to smile, but thesmile was a very forced one.
"Your question, and your manner of putting it, Mr Wingate, are bothvery offensive. I know no more of Monkton's whereabouts than you do.It is generally reported that he is abroad."
"And you know as well as I do that it is not the fact," answered Wingatesternly. "Have a care, Mr Farloe. We know a good deal about you."
The secretary assumed an air of extreme _hauteur_, but his face waswhiter than ever.
"It is extremely kind of you to interest yourself in my affairs, but Iam afraid they will hardly repay the trouble of investigation. Perhapsyou will allow me to bid you good-day."
"Please give me another moment or two, Mr Farloe. We know this muchabout you, that you are in close communication with Stent and Bolinski,the two men who sent that dying man in the taxi to Chesterfield Street."
For a moment the two men glared at each other, Wingate's face aflamewith anger, the other with an expression half of fear, half of defiance,stealing over his white mask.
"You refuse to tell me anything?" asked Wingate at length.
"I have nothing to tell you," answered the other, in a voice that hecould not keep quite steady. "Once again, good-day." He turned on hisheel, and walked rapidly away.
For fully five minutes he walked quickly in an easterly direction. Thenhe turned round, and cast stealthy glances backwards. Apparently hecould not get it out of his mind that Wingate might be pursuing him.
But he scanned the faces of the hurrying foot-passengers, and he coulddiscern no hostile countenance. Well-dressed loungers, women intent onshopping and bargains, a man dressed in working costume, walking with aslouching gait. These were all he saw.
He hailed a taxi, and shouted in a loud voice: "Broad Street Station."He had to shout loudly, for the roar of the traffic was deafening.
The working-man with the slouching gait caught the words. A second taxiwas just behind. He opened the door and jumped in, after havingwhispered in the ear of the driver, "Follow that fellow."
At Broad Street Station Farloe alighted, needless to say the man who hadpursued him close on his heels. Two tickets were taken for HackneyStation, one first-class, the other third-class.
The disguised working-man, otherwise Varney, had been considerablychagrined at the disappearance of the Forest View household, and hadsworn to be even with them. He had watched Farloe ever since, knowingthat through him he would get at the whereabouts of Stent and Bolinski.
Farloe alighted at Hackney Station, and after walking for about aquarter of a mile, turned up one of the many mean streets that abound inthat neighbourhood. The secretary knocked at the door of one of thedingiest houses in the row, and disappeared inside.
Varney kept his watch. At the end of an hour or so three men emergedfrom the shabby dwelling. As he expected, the two others were Stent andBolinski.
The three men made their way into Mare Street, and turned into thesaloon bar of a big public-house. Something of importance was evidentlyin progress.
Varney reflected. They would be some minutes before they had finishedtheir drinks and their conversation. In the meantime, he had taken thename of the street and the number of the house. He could allow himselffive minutes to ring up Scotland Yard.
Smeaton was fortunately in. In a few brief words he told the detectiveof his discovery. Smeaton's reply come back.
"Things are happening. I will send at once a couple of sergeants tohelp you. Hold on till my men arrive and then come straight on to me."
It is a far cry from Scotland Yard to Mare Street, Hackney. But,occupied with his own thoughts, it seemed only a few minutes to Varneywhen the two detectives drove up, and alighted at the door of thepublic-house. A swift taxi can do wonders in annihilating space.
The elder of the two men, whom Varney knew slightly, advanced towardshim.
"Good-day, Mr Varney. We struck here first, as being the nearest.They're still inside, eh?"
"I should have left, if not. Well, I suppose you will take up my job."
"That's about it, sir. Mr Smeaton told me he would like to see you assoon as possible. I think he has got something important tocommunicate. We'll wait for these two gentlemen. Stent and theRussian, to come out--Farloe we have nothing against at present--andthen we'll clap the darbies on them in a twinkling."
Varney, for a moment, looked incredulous. "But on what charge?"
The detective grinned. "One that we only knew of yesterday. A chargeof fraud in connection with certain rubber property. Another man of thename of Whyman is in it, but he seems to have got clear away."
Varney, his brain in a whirl, took his way back to Scotland Yard, stillin his costume of a working-man.
"Well, what does it all mean?" he gasped, when he got into Smeaton'sroom.
The great detective smiled genially. "It means, my dear Varney, that weare nearing the end of the Monkton mystery which has baffled us solong."
"And the solution?" queried the other eagerly.
"That I cannot tell you yet. But when it does come, I am afraid neitheryou nor I will reap much glory out of it."
And Varney could get nothing out of him except those few cryptic words.
"Something has happened quite recently?" he hazarded.
The detective answered with that same slow, wise smile of his."Perhaps. I can tell you nothing more now. Wait a moment, till Ianswer that telephone."
A few words passed, and then he turned to Varney. "My men report theyhave laid Stent and Bolinski by the heels on the charge of fraud."
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
IN THE MISTS.
Detective-sergeant Johnson stood in Smeaton's room, listening to thefinal instructions of his chief with his usual respectful air.
"Be as diplomatic as possible, Johnson. Let him suspect that we knoweverything, without committing yourself to any actual statement. Aboveall, impress upon him the fact that he must come. We would prefer hedid so voluntarily. If he should prove obstinate, give him clearly tounderstand that we have other means at our disposal."
Johnson spoke with quiet confidence. "I think you may safely leave itto me. After what you have told me, I am sure I can persuade thegentleman to accompany me. But, of course, I shall say nothing openly,simply confine myself to broad hints that ran only bear one meaning."
Smeaton regarded Johnson approvingly. For some time past he haddiscerned in this comparatively young man qualities that bade fair tosecure him a high position in his profession. He was level-headed,quick at instructions, possessed of considerable initiative, cautious,yet daring on occasion, confident without being boastful.
"One last word before you leave. You will make quite sure he is in thehouse before you enter it; in other words, that he has returned toLondon."
"I heard yesterday from my cousin, who had met his valet, that hislordship arrived late the previous evening. But to make sure, I haveappointed to meet Willet this afternoon, so as to get the latest news."
"Quite right, Johnson, quite right," said the great detective in hismost cordial tones. "Never leave anything to chance."
The subordinate bowed himself out, well pleased that he was advancinghimself so steadily in his chief's favour.
An hour later he was in the saloon bar of the exclusive establishmentwhich was patronised by the upper servants of Mayfair. Here he foundhis cousin awaiting him, who greeted him heartily. The two men hadcorresponded a few times, but they had not met since