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

by William Le Queux

surroundings. "We will carouse while thenight is still young. I am sorry I have no soda, and I fear all thehouses are shut. But the whisky is good."

  He poured out two liberal portions, added some water, and drained hisoff at a draught. Then he stooped, and lifted the lid of a dilapidatedtin box.

  "Now for the letters," he said.

  In a few moments he had found them, tied together in a packet with athin piece of twine. On a strip of paper within was: "Letters fromCharles Bellamy to Caleb Boyle."

  Wingate took them, and rapidly scanned the contents of the first two.There were about a dozen in all. They related to purely businessmatters, dwelling upon the magnificent prospects of a certain company inwhich Boyle had taken shares, and exhorting him to patience under thepresent non-payment of dividends.

  Read by the light of subsequent events, they were obviously the lettersof a swindler to the victim he had entrapped in his financial meshes.

  But, of course, to Wingate the supreme matter of interest was thehandwriting. And here, he could not be positive. He had read thethreatening letter, and he knew the contents of it by heart. But thatwas some time ago, and he could not form a mental picture of it.

  "Can you trust me with one of those, Mr Boyle, to show to our friendSmeaton, so that he may compare it with a letter in his possession. Ithink, so far as my memory serves me, they were written by the same man,but I want to see the two together. If you would rather not part withit, bring it down yourself to-morrow to Scotland Yard, and I will meetyou there."

  Boyle was hurt at the suggestion. "My dear Wingate, take the wholepacket, if you wish. After the noble way in which you have behavedto-night, is it likely I should refuse such a trifling thing?"

  "Thanks, they shall be returned to you directly Smeaton has done withthem. A thousand thanks, and now I will say good-night. I have to beup betimes to-morrow morning."

  He left, after refusing Boyle's earnest request to join him in a finalwhisky. He fancied there would not be much left in that bottle when thepoor broken-down gentleman stumbled into his uninviting bed.

  Wingate took the precious packet round to Smeaton next morning. And thedetective, after a minute and lengthy examination, declared there couldbe no doubt that Charles Bellamy was the writer of the threateningletter.

  "I will put all the documents in the hands of an expert forconfirmation," he said, "but I am quite certain in my own mind, and Ishall follow up the clue at once."

  "You have also another clue, that concerning Lady Wrenwyck," observedAustin. "Strange that we should be indebted to this peculiar creature,Boyle, for both!"

  "He seems to grow more useful as we cultivate his further acquaintance,"said the detective, a humorous smile softening for a moment his ratherharsh features.

  "To which of the two do you attach the greater importance?" wasWingate's next question.

  "It is hard to say. But by following both we may arrive at a solution.They must be pursued simultaneously and that requires two men.Personally I think the Bellamy track may produce the better result, andnaturally I should like to choose that for myself. On the other hand,the Wrenwyck one requires some experience and _finesse_, both of whichqualities I flatter myself I possess. Anyway, I must trust one of thetwo to a subordinate."

  He passed, and remained silent for a few moments, then made up his mind.He rang the bell, and requested that Johnson should come to him atonce.

  "I have resolved to take the Bellamy clue," he explained to Wingate."It will require some research, possibly lengthy communications with thepolice of other countries. Here I shall be better equipped than acomparatively new man. Johnson has so far acted with great promptitudein the Wrenwyck matter."

  Detective-sergeant Johnson appeared almost immediately, and to himSmeaton issued brief instructions.

  "About Lady Wrenwyck. You have lost no time over this, and I want youto follow it up. This is Mr Wingate, before whom we can speak quitefreely. Find out where the lady is and, equally important, if she isalone, or with a companion. I exclude, of course, her maid."

  Mr Johnson bowed. "I quite understand, sir. I know, as a fact, hermaid left with her. She was with her ladyship before her marriage, andis, no doubt, entirely in her mistress's confidence."

  The detective paused a second, and then added a little touch of his ownwhich, he was sure, would not be lost on his chief. Besides, it showedhis knowledge of high society, and of the ways of ladies who were atrifle unconventional.

  "Of course, sir, in circumstances of a delicate nature, ladies have beenknown to give their maids a holiday."

  "I quite appreciate that point, Johnson. Well, get on to the job atonce, and confer with me when necessary."

  Johnson withdrew, well pleased that his chief had entrusted him with soimportant a mission. Smeaton turned to his visitor.

  "Well, Mr Wingate, we ought to find out something in the next few days.I will get on to the track of Bellamy at once. Kindly drop a note toBoyle that I will keep his letters for a little time. Good-bye for thepresent. I will communicate with you the moment there is anything worthtelling."

  He set to work at once on the Bellamy _dossier_. Up to a certain pointthe task was comparatively easy. The man was of Polish origin, his realname being Ivan Bolinski. A little further investigation revealed thefact that he was the elder brother of the Bolinski who lived in theBoundary Road, St John's Wood, the man who had dined with Monkton atthe Soho restaurant, and according to the evidence of Davies, thetaxi-driver, one of the pair who had hailed his vehicle for theconveyance of the dying man to Chesterfield Street.

  So far, the scent seemed a warm one. Bellamy, to give him his assumedname, was born of an English mother, and, in marked contrast to hisbrother, betrayed very little of the foreigner in his appearance. Hespoke English with a perfect accent.

  He had started his career as a money-lender, his operations, which wereon a small scale, being confined chiefly to his compatriots. He nextblossomed out, in conjunction with a couple of scoundrels of the samekidney, into a promoter of small and shady concerns. Success attendedhis efforts, and he then flew at higher game. But although he amassedmoney he was never connected with a single flourishing company. He madethousands out of his victims, but they never saw a penny of their moneyback until just at the end.

  And at this point Smeaton came to the trial at which Monkton hadappeared and obtained a verdict for the restitution of the sums acquiredby fraudulent misrepresentation. Although only a civil action, theevidence against Bellamy was so damaging that a criminal prosecution wasbound to follow.

  This he himself recognised, with the result that within twenty-fourhours after the verdict had been given he escaped from England under anassumed name.

  Five years later he was convicted in America, and sentenced to a longterm of imprisonment, under this assumed name. At the trial it wasconclusively proved that he was the same man, Ivan Bolinski, aliasBellamy, who had previously figured in the English Courts, and beendriven from the pursuit of his nefarious occupation by the skill andeloquence of Monkton.

  He was tracked through a series of wanderings in different countries,where no doubt he still pursued his profession of _chevalierd'industrie_, although he seemed during that period to have escaped theactive interference of justice till about five years ago.

  At that date he was living at a small village in Cornwall, either on hisprivate means, or perhaps on money allowed him by his brother. Againstthis brother, so far as his commercial career was concerned, nothing ofa suspicious nature was known.

  Here Smeaton came to a _cul-de-sac_. At that date Ivan Bolinski wasliving in this remote Cornish village, under the name of Charlton.Twenty years or so had elapsed since, in a moment of burning hatred, hehad penned that threatening letter to the man who had brought to anabrupt close his nefarious career in this country.

  To that remote fishing hamlet went Smeaton. He found the quaint littlehouse which had sheltered Bellamy; which he hoped still sheltered him.The doo
r was opened by an elderly woman.

  "I have come to inquire about a man named Charlton who came to live herefive years ago," he said, going to the point at once.

  She was evidently an honest creature who knew nothing of what was goingon in the big world outside her little corner of earth.

  "Please come in, sir. A gentleman of that name came to lodge here aboutthat time."

  She led him into the tiny parlour, and asked him to be seated. AtSmeaton's request she told him all about her lodger.

  "He was in very poor health, sir, when he came here, and he seemed togradually get worse. He was a very quiet gentleman; spent most of histime reading. When he first came he took long walks, but latterly hehad to give these up. He lived a most solitary life, hardly ever wroteor received a letter, and had only one visitor, who came from London tosee him occasionally."

  "Can you