The Stolen Statesman Part 12

While thus deliberating, the train re-started. At Piccadilly Circus there was a considerable exodus, as there always is. The process of disembarking was slow, owing to the number of pa.s.sengers.

They both emerged into Jermyn Street, and went along to the Haymarket.

Here she looked round, apparently for a taxi, but there was not one in sight. It struck him, as he caught a side glimpse of her features, that she was looking worried and hara.s.sed. Evidently his persistent d.o.g.g.i.ng had shaken her nerves.

She walked slowly, with the deliberate gait of a person who was perturbed, and thinking hard. She entered a big drapery shop, where Mason was compelled to follow her for reasons.

Had it been an ordinary kind of shop, he would have waited outside, till she came out. This particular establishment, however, had two entrances, one in Regent Street and one in Piccadilly. She knew this, of course, and would slip out of the one he was not watching. So he followed her in.

Having bought a pair of long cream gloves she glanced furtively around, and then left the shop, pa.s.sing into Regent Street. Afterwards she spent some time looking into the shop windows up and down that busy thoroughfare, ultimately returning to the Piccadilly Tube Station, where she took a ticket for Knightsbridge, Mason following all the while.

Her face was wan and haggard with the relentless chase, but her eyes expressed indomitable resolution. They seemed to flash across at him as they sat in the same car the unspoken message: "I will outwit you yet."

At Knightsbridge both watcher and watched ascended in the same lift, with its clanging lattice gate, and it was quite plain that Mrs Saxton was now in a quandary how to escape. In a careless att.i.tude she pa.s.sed from the street back into the booking-hall, where she pretended to idle up and down, as though awaiting someone. Now and then she looked up at the clock as though anxious and impatient.

Mason believed her anxiety to be merely a ruse, but was both surprised and interested when a small ragged urchin entering the place suddenly recognised her, and handed her a note.

She took it eagerly, and without examining it crushed it hurriedly into her little black silk bag, giving the little fellow a s.h.i.+lling, whereupon he thanked her and ran merrily out.

Next instant Mason slipped forth after the lad in order to question him, leaving the woman safely in the booking-hall. In a few seconds he stopped the boy and asked good-humouredly who had given him the letter.

"A gentleman in Notting 'Ill," was the urchin's prompt reply. "I don't know 'im. 'E only said that a lady in a big black 'at, and dressed all in black and carryin' a bag, would be waitin' for me, and that I were to give the note to 'er."

"Is that all you know, my good lad?" Mason inquired quickly, giving him another s.h.i.+lling.

"Yus. That's all I knows, sir," he replied.

While speaking, the detective had kept his eye upon the booking-hall, and swiftly returned to it, only, however, to find that the woman was not there.

The descending lift was full, the lattice gates were closed and it had just started down when he peered within.

In the lift was Mrs Saxton, who, with a smile of triumph, disappeared from his view.

Mason, in a sorry and chastened frame of mind, took the next lift, which, as always happens under such circ.u.mstances, was unusually long in arriving. To him, it seemed an eternity.

He got down to the platform, in time to see the tail of a departing train. Mrs Saxton had not waited in the booking-hall in vain. She had two minutes' start of him, and he might hunt London over before he would again find her.

Only one thing was certain: Mrs Saxton was certainly a very clever woman, who, no doubt, had prepared that very clever ruse of the arrival of the letter, well-knowing that the messenger must draw off the detective's attention, and thus give her time to slip away.

That same evening James Farloe, who had been chatting in the Lobby of the House of Commons with a couple of Members of the Opposition, was suddenly called aside by Sir Archibald Turtrell, Member for North Canterbury, who, in a low, mysterious whisper, asked:

"Look here, Farloe, is this rumour true?"

"What rumour?" inquired the private secretary, who was a well-known figure about the House, as are those of all secretaries to Ministers of the Crown.

"Why, that Mr Monkton is missing, and that he is not at Cannes as the papers say. Everyone is discussing it."

The sleek, well-dressed young man in a morning suit with a white slip within his waistcoat, laughed sarcastically, as he replied:

"I wonder. Sir Archibald, who it is who spreads such ridiculous rumours. I had a letter from Mr Monkton only this morning from Cannes.

That's all I know."

"And yet a telegram that I sent to the Beau Site yesterday has been returned to-night undelivered!"

For a second Farloe held his breath. Serious inquiry was apparently being made by Members of the House, in spite of all the precautions of the Home Secretary.

"Oh," he replied, with well-feigned carelessness. "The Colonial Secretary left the Beau Site over a fortnight ago. People were worrying him, so his doctor sent him to a furnished villa."

"What is his address?"

"I'm very sorry. Sir Archibald, but I am unable to give it. I have instructions to that effect," was the secretary's cautious reply. "If you give me your note, or write to his club, I will see that it is attended to. Doctor Monier wrote me three days ago asking me not to send his patient any matters concerning public affairs that might worry him."

"But his daughter still remains in Chesterfield Street," observed the Baronet. "It is strange she is not with him. The rumour is growing that Monkton has disappeared, and that the police are searching for him."

"I know," laughed the other. "I have heard so. It is all too ridiculous. The truth has already been published in the Press. Mr Monkton has had a very serious nervous breakdown, and is on the Riviera--even though it is summer."

"You are quite certain of that--eh, Farloe?"

"Why should I tell you an untruth?" asked the secretary blandly.

They were standing near the Members' post-office, and the Baronet, having exchanged a nod with the Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, who was just pa.s.sing into the House itself, gazed full into the secretary's eyes.

"Tell me, Farloe--tell me in strict confidence," he urged. "I'll not whisper a word, but--well, do you happen to know anyone of the name of Stent?"

The young man hesitated, though he preserved the most complete and remarkable control.

"Stent? Stent?" he repeated. "No. The name is quite unfamiliar to me."

"Are you quite certain? Think."

"I have already thought. I have never heard that name," was the reply.

"You are quite positive that he is not acquainted with Mr Monkton in some peculiar and mysterious way?"

"How should I possibly know? All the Colonial Minister's friends are not known to me. Mr Monkton is a very popular man, remember. But why," he added, "do you ask about this man Stent?"

"Because it is told to me that he is a mysterious friend of Monkton's."

"Not as far as I am aware," declared Farloe. "I certainly have no knowledge of their friends.h.i.+p, and the name is so unusual that one would certainly recollect it."

The Baronet smiled. Farloe, seeing that he was unconvinced, was eager to escape from any further awkward cross-examination.

"I really wish that you would be frank with me," said Sir Archibald, who was one of Britain's business magnates and a great friend of Monkton's.

"I am informed that this person Stent is in possession of the true and actual facts concerning the Minister's curious disappearance."

Farloe realised that something was leaking out, yet he maintained a firm att.i.tude of pretended resentment.

"Well, Sir Archibald," he protested. "I cannot well see how I can be more frank with you. I've never heard of this mysterious person."