become Premier.There were abler men than he, men with greater influence with thenation, men who had schemed for the office for half a lifetime. No.Death might come to him soon--how soon he knew not. And then Sheilashould marry. Therefore, even though the wrench would be a great one,personally he, honest man that he was, felt that he should make asacrifice, and promote a union between the pair.
Sheila was his only home companion and comfort. True, she scolded himseverely sometimes. Sometimes she pouted, put on airs, and betrayeddefiance. But do not all young girls? If they did not they would bedevoid of that true spirit of independence which every woman shouldpossess.
Again he glanced at her while she laughed happily with the young man wholoved her, but who had never admitted it. Then he looked across theroom, where sat Benyon, a well-known member of the Opposition, with hisfat, opulent wife, who had, until recently, been his housekeeper. Theeyes of the two men met, and the Cabinet Minister waved his hand inrecognition, while the stout, over-dressed woman stared.
Half the people in the restaurant had, by this time, recognised ReginaldMonkton by the many photographs which appeared almost daily, for was henot the popular idol of his Party, and did not the _Court Circular_inform the nation of the frequent audiences he had of His Majesty theKing?
"Well, Austin?" asked the Minister, when the waiter had served anexquisitely cooked entree. "How are things out at Hendon?"
"Oh! we are all very busy, sir. Wilcox is experimenting with his newairship. At last he has had some encouragement from the Government, andwe are all delighted. My shops are busy. We sent three planes to Spainyesterday. King Alphonso ordered them when he was over in the earlyspring."
"Austin has promised to take me up for a flight one day, dad!" exclaimedthe girl enthusiastically. "He wants to ask you if he may."
Her father did not reply for some moments. Then he said judiciously:
"Well, dear, we must see. Perhaps he might take you just a little way--once round the aerodrome--eh?"
"Of course not far," said his daughter, glancing significantly at herlover.
"There is no risk, Mr Monkton, I assure you. Miss Sheila is veryanxious to go up, and I shall be most delighted to take her--with yourconsent, of course," Wingate said. "My suggestion is just a circuit ortwo around the aerodrome. We are completing a new machine this week,and after I've tried her to see all is safe. I'd like to take Sheilaup."
"We must see--we must see," replied her indulgent father, assuming anon-committal attitude. He, however, knew that in all England no manknew more of aerial dynamics than Austin Wingate, and, further, thatbeneath his apparently careless exterior with his immaculate clothes andhis perfectly-brushed hair was a keen and scientific mind, and that hewas working night and day directing the young and rising firm ofaeroplane makers at Hendon, of which he was already managing director.
Sheila's meeting with him had been the outcome of one of hisexperiments. One afternoon in the previous summer he had been driving anew hydroplane along the Thames, over the Henley course, when he hadaccidentally collided with a punt which Sheila, in a white cotton dress,was manipulating with her pole.
In an instant the punt was smashed and sunk, and Miss Monkton and hertwo girl companions were flung into the water. After a few minutes ofexcitement all three were rescued, and the young inventor, on presentinghimself to express his deep regret, found himself face to face with"Monkton's daughter," as Sheila was known in Society.
The girl with her two friends, after changing their clothes at the RedLion, had had tea with the author of the disaster, who was unaware oftheir names, and who later on returned to London, his hydroplane beingbadly damaged by the collision.
Six months went past, yet the girl's face did not fade from AustinWingate's memory. He had been a fool, he told himself, not to ascertainher name and address. He had given one of the girls his card, and shehad told him her name was Norris. That was all he knew. On purpose toascertain who they were he had been down to Henley a fortnight after theaccident, but as the girls had not stayed at the Red Lion, but wereevidently living in some riverside house or bungalow, farther up theriver, he could obtain no knowledge or trace of her.
One bright Saturday afternoon in November the usual gay crowd hadassembled at the aerodrome at Hendon to watch the aviation, a sciencenot nearly so well developed in 1912 as it is to-day. At the Wingateworks, on the farther side of the great open grass lands, Austin wasbusy in the long shed directing the final touches to a new machine,which was afterwards wheeled out, and in which he made an experimentalflight around the aerodrome, which the public, many of them seated attea-tables on the lawn, watched with interest.
After making several circles and performing a number of evolutions, hecame to earth close to a row of smart motor-cars drawn up on the lawnreserved for subscribers, and unstrapping himself sprang gaily out.
As he did so he saw, seated in the driver's seat of a fine limousinestraight before him, a girl in motoring kit chatting with an elderly manwho stood beside the car.
The girl's eyes met his, and the recognition was instantly mutual. Shesmiled merrily across to him, whereupon he crossed to her, just as hewas, in his mechanic's rather greasy brown overalls, and bowing beforeher exclaimed:
"How fortunate! Fancy meeting again like this!" Whereupon, with hercheeks flushed with undisguised pleasure, she shook his hand, and thenturning to the tall elderly man explained:
"This is the gentleman who smashed our punt at Henley, father! We havenot met since."
"I fear it was very careless of me, sir," Wingate said. "But I offer athousand apologies."
"The accident might have been far worse," declared the girl's father,smiling. "So let it rest at that."
"I had no idea that it was you in the air just now," exclaimed the girl,and then for ten minutes or so the trio stood chatting, during whichtime he explained that his works were on the opposite side of theaerodrome, after which he shook hands and left them.
"Whose car is that big grey one, third in the row yonder?" he askedeagerly of one of the gatekeepers, a few moments later.
"Oh, that, sir? Why, that belongs to Mr Reginald Monkton, the ColonialSecretary. There he is--with his daughter."
So his sweet, dainty friend of the river was daughter of the popularCabinet Minister!
He drew a long breath and bit his lip. Then climbing back into hismachine, he waved father and daughter adieu and was soon skimming acrossto the row of long sheds which comprised the Wingate Aeroplane Factory.
The young man was sensible enough to know that he could never aspire tothe hand of the Cabinet Minister's daughter, yet a true and closefriendship had quickly sprung up between her father and himself, withthe result that Wingate was now a frequent and welcome visitor to thecosy old-world house in Mayfair, and as proof the well-known statesmanhad accepted Austin's invitation to lunch at the Carlton on thatwell-remembered day of the Cabinet meeting, the true importance of whichis only known to those who were present at the deliberations in DowningStreet that morning.
Curious, indeed, were the events that were to follow, events known onlyto a few, and here chronicled for the first time.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE DISCOVERY IN CHESTERFIELD STREET.
In the absence of her father, Sheila Monkton was compelled to entertainher guests at dinner alone. There were three: Sir Pemberton Wheeler andhis young dark-haired wife Cicely, an old schoolfellow of Sheila's, andAustin Wingate.
They were a merry quartette as they sat in the cosy dining-room inChesterfield Street, a few doors from Curzon Street, waited on by Grant,the white-headed, smooth-faced old butler who had been in the service ofMonkton's father before him.
The house was an old-fashioned Georgian one. Upon the iron railings wasa huge extinguisher, recalling the days of linkmen and coaches, whilewithin was a long, rather narrow hall and a spiral staircase of stoneworn hollow by the tread of five generations. The rooms were not large,but very tastefully, even luxuriously, fu
rnished, with many finepaintings, pieces of beautiful statuary, and magnificent bronzes, whileeverywhere were soft carpets upon which one's feet fell noiselessly. Inthat house, indeed in that very room wherein the four sat laughing inthe June twilight, the pale-pink shades of the lamps shedding a softglow over the table with its flowers and silver, many of the mostprominent British statesmen had been entertained by the ColonialSecretary, and many a State secret had been discussed within those fourdark-painted walls.
"The Prime Minister dined with us last Thursday," Sheila remarked toCicely Wheeler. "Lord Horsham came in later, and they had one of theirprivate conferences."
"Which meant that you were left to amuse yourself alone, eh?" laughedSir Pemberton Wheeler, and he glanced mischievously towards Austin onthe other side of the table.
"Yes.
The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery Page 2
