The Stolen Statesman: Being the Story of a Hushed Up Mystery

by William Le Queux

hiscompanion.

  "Enough of that. You are a man of vast experience, and you have seenmen and cities. But I bet you would never guess that not so many yearsago I was one of the young bloods of this town, one of what ourneighbours across the Channel call the _jeunesse doree_."

  And at last Smeaton was moved to speech. He looked at the well-cut butworn clothes; he remembered Winchester and Cambridge; he recognised theflamboyant and ill-controlled temperament. He drew his deductionsswiftly.

  "You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth," he said bluntly; "youhad every advantage that birth and education could give you. Throughsome fatal tendency, perhaps inherited, you threw away all your chances,and are living on your memories--and very little else."

  So far from being offended with this plain exposition of facts, MrBoyle smiled affably, and, leaning forward, patted the detectiveapprovingly on the shoulder.

  "You're a man after my own heart, sir; you go to the very marrow ofthings. You have hit it off correctly. But mark you, I regret nothing;I would alter nothing if the time came over again. I have lived, sir:warmed both hands at the fire of life; filled the cup of enjoyment tothe brim. Nothing has daunted me, nothing ever will daunt me. Old as Iam, derelict as I may be, I still look the world in the face, and, inthe words of the poet, `Stand four-square to all the winds that blow.'"

  Smeaton stirred uncomfortably. Was the man simply an original kind ofbeggar, and was all this the preface to a request for a modest loan? Hehad assurance enough for anything!

  "Mr Boyle, my time is really very much occupied. May I beg you to cometo the point, and state the object of your visit? These personalreminiscences and reflections are, of course, highly interesting, but--"He made an eloquent pause.

  "I have transgressed, I have abused your patience," observed thissingular man, in a voice of contrition; "I came to ask you a simplequestion, and here it is, plain, straight, and put as briefly aspossible: _What is at the bottom of Reginald Monkton's disappearance_?"

  Smeaton looked up sharply. "Who says that he has disappeared?" he askedwith some asperity.

  Mr Boyle smiled blandly. "Why beat about the bush? Monkton is not inhis place in the House. There is not a line in the papers about hismovements, except that he is on the Riviera. The public may not yethave tumbled to it. But Fleet Street knows. The House of Commonsknows. The clubs know. And last--you and I know. I still have someconnection with the world in which I was once not an insignificantfigure."

  Smeaton hardly knew what to answer. The man had every quality thatoffended his well-ordered mind, but he was not the absolute fool he hadtaken him for.

  "Cannot a statesman, worn out and weary with hard work, take a briefholiday without letting loose all these absurd rumours?" he asked withpretended petulance.

  Mr Boyle shrugged his shoulders. "My dear sir, I know as well as youdo that this matter is in your hands, and you are hushing it up in thehopes that you will find a solution, and avoid a scandal. So far youhave failed. If you had succeeded, either Monkton would have been backby now, or you would know of his death, and there would have been apublic explanation. You have failed, and do you know why?"

  "I shall be very glad to know why," Smeaton replied, goaded into ahalf-admission by the contemptuous tone of the other man.

  "Because, although you have some very clever men here you want aleavening of men of different calibre. It is good to know every cornerof the slums, to be acquainted with every incident in the career ofburglar Bill and light-fingered Jack, to know the haunts of all theinternational thieves and forgers and anarchists. That is sound anduseful knowledge."

  "I am glad you think so," said Smeaton sarcastically.

  "In a case like this, however, you want another sort of knowledgealtogether," pursued Mr Boyle, callously indifferent to the detective'ssarcasm. "You want a man who has mixed in the big world from hisboyhood, who knows all the ins and outs, all the intrigue of sociallife, all the gossip, all the scandal that has been going round theclubs and drawing-rooms for the last forty years."

  "In other words, men like yourself--eh? We have plenty such in ourpay."

  "But they are not a recognised part of your official organisation,"rejoined Mr Boyle quickly. "As you are kind enough to suggest myself,"he added modestly, "I think I may say that in certain cases I shouldearn my salary. But I admit that at the burglar business I should be nouse at all."

  There was a long silence. Smeaton was trying to smother hisindignation. He had taken a dislike to the man from the first moment hehad set eyes upon him. His long-windedness, his self-conceit, hisgrotesque gestures, his assumption of superiority, his gibes at ScotlandYard methods, had added to it. But he must bear with him; he was surethat Boyle had something more to say before he took his leave.

  Mr Boyle pursued his discourse, quite unconscious of the other'santipathy.

  "In spite of troubles that would have crushed a weaker man, I think Ihave worn well: I am frequently taken for ten years younger than I am.As a fact, there is only one year's difference between Monkton andmyself. We were at a tutor's together, and we went up to Cambridge inthe same year."

  Smeaton breathed a sigh of relief. He had an intuition that at lastthis exasperating person was coming to the point.

  "The Monkton of those days was very different from the Monkton of lateryears--the keen politician, the statesman conscious of the graveresponsibilities of office. He was full of fun and go, one of a band ofchoice spirits who kept things lively, and, as a matter of course, gotinto many scrapes, and came more than once into conflict with theauthorities."

  Smeaton listened intently. This was certainly not the prevalent idea ofthe statesman who had so mysteriously disappeared.

  "I saw a great deal of him afterwards. We moved in much the same set.He married early, and everybody said that he was devotedly attached tohis wife. So, no doubt, he was. At the same time, he had been a greatadmirer of the fair sex, and it was rumoured that there had been tenderpassages between him and several well-known ladies occupying highpositions in society."

  The flamboyant manner had departed. For the moment he seemed anordinary, sensible man, setting forth a sober statement of actual fact.

  "There was one lady, in particular, with whom his name was especiallyconnected. She was at that time some live or six years younger thanMonkton, and married--people said, against her will--to a very unpopularnobleman much older than herself, who was madly jealous of her. It wasreported at the clubs that the husband strongly resented Monkton'sattentions, and that on one occasion a _fracas_ had taken place betweenthe two men, in which Monkton had been severely handled. Somecorroboration was lent to the statement by the fact that he did notappear in the Courts for a week after the occurrence was supposed tohave taken place."

  "Did this _fracas_ to which you allude take place before or after hismarriage?" asked the detective.

  "Speaking from memory, I should say about a year before."

  And at this point Mr Boyle rose, drew a pair of faded gloves from hispocket, and put them on preparatory to his departure.

  "In a case of this kind, Mr Smeaton, it is well to remember the Frenchproverb, `Look out for the woman.' You, no doubt, have followed severalclues, and evidently to no purpose. Well, I will give you one gratis--keep your eye upon Lady Wrenwyck, now a middle-aged woman, but, at thetime to which I refer, one of the most celebrated beauties of her day,and, according to rumour, wildly in love with Reginald Monkton. It maylead to nothing, of course, but I think the tip is worth following."

  "I am obliged to you, and will certainly act upon your advice," saidSmeaton gravely, as he held out his hand.

  As Mr Boyle took it his former eccentricities of manner returned. Hebowed profoundly, and spoke in his high, artificial voice.

  "Sir, I am more than flattered. I shall go later on to Miss Monkton. Ishould much like to make the acquaintance of my old friend's daughter."

  Smeaton was aghast at this declaration. He had a shr
ewd suspicion thathis real object in interviewing Sheila was to trade on his oldacquaintance with her father, and probably obtain a loan. It was ahundred to one that such a mercurial creature would drop somedisquieting hints about Lady Wrenwyck.

  "I would beg of you to postpone your call, Mr Boyle. Miss Monkton is,naturally, in a state of great depression and anxiety. I should,however, very much like you to see Mr Austin Wingate, who is her bestfriend. If you will favour me with your address, I will arrange ameeting."

  Mr Boyle, indulged in another of his grotesque bows. He scribbled on apiece of paper, and handed it to the detective.

  "I should be glad to have that meeting arranged as soon as possible, MrSmeaton." There was a shade of anxiety in his voice. Smeaton was surethat philanthropy was not the