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

by William Le Queux

demandsdiplomacy.

  He spoke deferentially. "May I speak my mind plainly?" he asked.

  "I desire perfect frankness." Smeaton was not a little man. He knewthat elderly men, in spite of their experience, grow stale, and oftenlose their swiftness of thought. It was well to incline their ears tothe rising generation.

  "It was a clue worth following, sir, but personally I don't attach greatimportance to it."

  "Give me your reasons, Johnson. I know you have an analytical turn ofmind. I shall be delighted to hear them."

  And Johnson gave his reasons. "This was a threatening letter. Idaresay every big counsel receives them by the dozen. Now, let usconstruct for a moment the mentality of the writer; we will call him byhis real name, Bolinski. A man of keen business instincts, or he wouldnot have been the successful rogue he was. Naturally, therefore, a manof equable temperament."

  "It was not the letter of a man of equable temperament," interposedSmeaton grimly.

  "A temporary aberration," rejoined the scientific detective. "Even menof calm temperament get into uncontrollable rages occasionally. Hewrote it at white heat, strung to momentary madness by the ruin thatconfronted him. That is understandable. What is _not_ understandableis that a man of that well-balanced mind should cherish rancour for aperiod of twenty-odd years."

  "There is something in what you say, Johnson. I confess that you aremore subtle than I am."

  Johnson pursued his advantage. "After the lapse of twelve months, bywhich time he had probably found his feet again, he would recognise it,to use a phrase we both know well, sir, as `a fair cop.' He had defiedthe law; the law had got the better of him. He would take off his hat,and say to the law: `I give you best. You are the better man, and youwon.'"

  Smeaton regarded his subordinate with genuine admiration.

  "I am not too old to learn, Johnson; you have taught me somethingto-night." He paused a moment, and added slowly: "You have taught me todistinguish the probable from the possible."

  Johnson rose, feeling he had done well and impressed his sagacity uponhis chief.

  "I believe, sir, when you think it over you will admit that such adelayed scheme of vengeance would not be carried out, after the lapse ofso many years, by a man of ordinary sanity. I admit it might be carriedout by a lunatic, or a person half-demented, on the borderland--a manwho had brooded over an ancient wrong till he became obsessed."

  Smeaton nodded, in comprehension. His subordinate was developingunsuspected powers.

  "Wait a moment, Johnson. We know certain things. We know Bolinski--whowrote the threatening letter--is out of it, so far as activeparticipation is concerned. Lady Wrenwyck is out of it. We know thetwo who put the dying man in the cab. We know about Farloe and Saxton.We know about the Italian who died at Forest View. We know about theman Whyman, who invited me to stay the night, and disappeared before Iwas up next morning. You know all these things, everything that hastaken place since I took up the case. You have thought it all over."

  "I have thought it all over," replied Johnson, always deferential andalways imperturbable.

  "Don't go yet," said Smeaton. "Frankly, we seem to have come to a deadend. Have _you_ anything to suggest?"

  Johnson's triumph was complete. That the great Smeaton should seek theadvice of a lieutenant, except in the most casual and non-committal way,was a thing unprecedented.

  But, following the example of other great men, he did not lose his head.He spoke with his accustomed deliberation, his usual deference.

  "The mystery, if it ever is solved, sir, will be solved at Forest View.Keep a watch on that house, day and night." He emphasised the lastword, and looked squarely at his chief.

  Smeaton gave a sudden start. "You know Varney is watching it."

  "A clever fellow, sir; relies upon intuition largely and has littlepatience with our slower methods. He watches it by day--well, nodoubt--but he doesn't watch it by night. Many strange things happenwhen the sun has gone down."

  Smeaton smiled a little uneasily. "You are relying on intuition nowyourself, Johnson. But this conversation has given me food for thought.I will carry out your suggestion. In the meantime understand that, inthis last mission, you have done all that is possible. I shall send ina report to that effect."

  Johnson withdrew, well pleased with the interview. He had greatlyadvanced himself in his chief's estimation and he had skilfully avoidedwounding Smeaton's _amour propre_.

  The day was fated to be one of unpleasant surprises. A few hours laterVarney dashed into his room, in a state of great excitement.

  "Astounding news--infernal news!" he cried, dashing his hat down on thetable. "But first look at this, and see if you recognise the original."

  He handed Smeaton a snapshot. The detective examined it carefully.Truth to tell, it was not a very brilliant specimen of photographic art.

  "The cap and apron puzzled me a little at first," he said at length."But it is certainly Mrs Saxton; in other words, I take it, theparlourmaid at Forest View."

  "Just what I suspected," cried Varney. "I was thinking about the woman,firmly convinced in my own mind that she was different from what shepretended to be. In a flash I thought of Mrs Saxton. I got a snap ather in the garden yesterday morning, without her seeing me, so as tobring it to you for identification."

  "Forest View seems to be the centre of the mystery," said Smeatonslowly. "Well, this is not the infernal news, I suppose? There issomething more to come."

  And Varney blurted out the astonishing tale. "Forest View is empty.They made tracks in the night--while we were all sound asleep."

  Smeaton thought of Johnson's recommendation to watch the house by nightas well as day. He reproached himself for his own carelessness whendealing with such wary adversaries.

  "Tell me all about it," he said sharply.

  Varney went on with his story.

  "It has been my custom to stroll round there every night about eleveno'clock, when the lights are put out, generally to the minute," he said."I did the same thing last evening; they were extinguished a fewminutes later than usual, but I did not attach any importance to that."

  "They were packing up, I suppose, and got a little over their time,"observed Smeaton.

  "No doubt. I am usually a light sleeper, but I had taken a long cycleride in the afternoon, and slept heavily till late in the morning. Itook my usual stroll after breakfast. The gate was closed, but therewere marks of heavy wheels on the gravel, and all the blinds were down.I went up to the door, and rang the bell. Nobody answered."

  "Did they take all the furniture?" queried Smeaton. "No, they could nothave moved it in the time."

  "I am certain, from the marks, only one van had gone in and come out.They only removed what was valuable and important. I questioned thelocal constable. He saw a van pass, going in the direction of London,but had no idea of where it had come from. Some of them, I expect, gotinto the van, and the others took a circuitous route in the motor."

  Smeaton listened to all this with profound chagrin. He rose and pacedthe room.

  "I am fed up with the whole thing, Varney," he said, in a despondentvoice. "I have followed two clues already that seemed promising, andthey turn into will-o'-the-wisps. And now we've got to begin all overagain with this Forest View lot."

  Varney agreed. As a relief from the strain and tension of this mostbaffling case, he suggested that Smeaton should dine with him at theSavage Club that night, to talk things over.

  After an excellent dinner, they recovered somewhat from the depressioncaused by the recent untoward events. They went into the Alhambra foran hour, and then strolled up Coventry Street.

  They waited at the corner of the Haymarket to cross the street. Thetraffic from the theatres was very congested, and the vehicles werecrawling slowly westward.

  Suddenly Smeaton clutched at his companion's arm, and pointed to a taxithat was slowly passing them beneath the glare of the street lamps.

  "Look ins
ide," he cried excitedly.

  Varney took a few quick paces forward, and peered through the closedwindow. He returned to Smeaton, his face aglow.

  "The parlourmaid at Forest View, otherwise Mrs Saxton, by all that'swonderful!"

  "Did you notice the man?"

  "No, I hadn't time. The driver started on at proper speed before Icould focus him."

  "Do you know, the face in that gleam of light looked wonderfully likethat of Reginald Monkton!" he said. "I committed the number of the taxito memory. To-morrow, we shall know where it took them."

  Next morning, the taxi-driver was found, and told his tale simply andstraightforwardly.

  "I picked them up in the