The Stolen Statesman Part 26

The Premier shrugged his shoulders. "We were all at Cambridge together.

He knew Monkton and he knew me, in the way that undergraduates know each other. We met afterwards, occasionally, in some of the many sets that const.i.tute Society. But I am sure that Monkton was never intimate with him. He was one of dozens of men that he had known at school and college. Boyle always built up his supposed friendships on very slender material. It used to be said that if he knocked against an Archbishop by accident, and begged his pardon, he would swear afterwards that he was on terms of intimacy with him."

There was a pause before Smeaton put his next question.

"This man tells me that at one time there was a scandal about Mr Monkton and a certain Lady Wrenwyck--a woman of fashion and a noted beauty. I take the liberty of asking you to confirm or refute that."

Mr Chesterton frowned slightly. "I take it, Mr Smeaton, you have a good reason for asking me this. But, frankly, I am not fond of raising old ghosts."

Smeaton answered him a little stiffly. "In my calling, sir. we are often compelled to put inconvenient questions, but only when, in our judgment, they are absolutely necessary."

"I accept your statement on that head, unreservedly, Mr Smeaton." The frown cleared from the Premier's brow, and his tone was marked with that fine courtesy which had secured him so many friends.

He paused a moment, drew a sigh, and resumed. "I will be quite frank with you, Smeaton. That chatterbox Boyle has told you the truth. He was not in our particular set, but of course the common rumours reached him. There was a scandal--a very considerable scandal. It distressed his friends greatly, especially those who, like myself, appreciated his exceptional talents, and predicted for him a great career."

Again he paused. Then he resumed:

"I am glad to say our counsels and influence prevailed in the end. We weaned him from this fascinating lady--who fought very hard for him, I must tell you. In the end we won. A year later he married a very charming girl, who made him the best of wives, and to whom, I have every reason to believe, he was devotedly attached."

Smeaton rose, and expressed his thanks for the candid way in which Mr Chesterton had treated him.

"One last question, sir, and I have done," he said. "What would be the present age of this lady?"

"She is ten years or so Monkton's junior, and looks ten years younger than that. At least, she did the last time I saw her, and that was a few months ago."

As he walked across back to Scotland Yard, Smeaton turned it all over in his mind. Lady Wrenwyck was ten years younger than Monkton, and looked ten years younger than her real age. Therefore, without doubt, she was a beautiful and fascinating woman, and still dangerous.

Had he cared to question the Prime Minister more closely, he could have gleaned more information about the Wrenwyck household. But Mr Chesterton was obviously disinclined to raise "old ghosts," as he called them. He would obtain what he wanted by other methods.

He hunted up Lord Wrenwyck in the peerage, and found him to be a person of some importance, who possessed three houses in the country, and lived in Park Lane. He was also twelfth Baron.

Smeaton summoned one of his subordinates, a promising young fellow, keen at 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 this family. You understand, Johnson--every detail you can pick up."

Detective-sergeant Johnson, qualifying for promotion, smiled at his chief and gave him his a.s.surance.

"I've had more difficult jobs, and perhaps a few easier ones, Mr Smeaton. I'll get on it at once, and I don't think you'll be disappointed," 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 Wrenwyck establishment, and accustomed to look in of an evening at a select hostelry adjacent to Park Lane.

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

"I have got up some facts, sir. I will read you from my notes. Lady Wrenwyck was a girl when she married; her husband some twenty years older. She was forced into the marriage by her parents, who were of good family, but poor as church mice. Her ladyship was a beautiful girl, 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 done devilish well, Johnson. Go on."

Sergeant Johnson proceeded, refreshing himself from his notes. "For several years past they have lived in a sort of armed truce. They live together, that is to say, in the same house, but they never exchange a word with each other, except before guests. If they have to hold communication, it is by means of notes, conveyed through the valet and the lady's maid."

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

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

"Please do," said Smeaton cordially. Johnson was of the younger generation, but he was shaping well. Perhaps it is possible that youngsters 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 absent from Park Lane for a little time. n.o.body knows where he is. His confidential man of business, steward or secretary or something, runs the 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 her departure. Here it is, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

One fact emerged clearly, and it was this: Lady Wrenwyck had left her home, to which she had not returned, two days before the mysterious disappearance 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 wrong road?

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 characteristic flourish. "Trusting that our meeting may prove as agreeable to you, as it is in antic.i.p.ation to myself. Yours sincerely, C. Boyle."

It was a beautiful summer morning. His thoughts flew to his well-beloved. What was she doing at this particular moment? He could guess 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. A brilliant idea had occurred to the fond young lover; he hastened to put it into execution.

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

"We are going to take a holiday, darling," he cried gaily. "This is a perfect day; it's a shame to be stifled in London. We will run down by train 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 will bring you back home, I wonder if you remember that day--it seems such a little while ago--when we first met?"

"Shall I ever forget it?" she whispered softly. "I think, perhaps, I fell a little bit in love with you then. And afterwards we met at Hendon, and you came to call on us at Chesterfield Street. And my dear father 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 are sweethearts for ever and ever."