“The Monkton of those days was very different from the Monkton of later years—the keen politician, the statesman conscious of the grave responsibilities of office. He was full of fun and go, one of a band of choice spirits who kept things lively, and, as a matter of course, got into many scrapes, and came more than once into conflict with the authorities.”
Smeaton listened intently. This was certainly not the prevalent idea of the 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 to his wife. So, no doubt, he was. At the same time, he had been a great admirer of the fair sex, and it was rumoured that there had been tender passages between him and several well-known ladies occupying high positions in society.”
The flamboyant manner had departed. For the moment he seemed an ordinary, sensible man, setting forth a sober statement of actual fact.
“There was one lady, in particular, with whom his name was especially connected. She was at that time some live or six years younger than Monkton, and married—people said, against her will—to a very unpopular nobleman much older than herself, who was madly jealous of her. It was reported at the clubs that the husband strongly resented Monkton’s attentions, and that on one occasion a fracas had taken place between the two men, in which Monkton had been severely handled. Some corroboration was lent to the statement by the fact that he did not appear in the Courts for a week after the occurrence was supposed to have taken place.”
“Did this fracas to which you allude take place before or after his marriage?” 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 his pocket, and put them on preparatory to his departure.
“In a case of this kind, Mr Smeaton, it is well to remember the French proverb, ‘Look out for the woman.’ You, no doubt, have followed several clues, 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 the time to which I refer, one of the most celebrated beauties of her day, and, according to rumour, wildly in love with Reginald Monkton. It may lead to nothing, of course, but I think the tip is worth following.”
“I am obliged to you, and will certainly act upon your advice,” said Smeaton gravely, as he held out his hand.