“I looked round this morning to see how my men were getting on, and found a taxi waiting before the door. I had to hide when she came out, but one of my men heard her give the address of this office. I picked up another taxi, and drove as hard as I could. My fellow kept the other well in sight, but just as we were gaining on her, I was blocked, and lost three minutes. She came here, of course, to send a wire. But it is only a little delay. I can get hold of that wire very shortly.”
“But there is no need,” cried Sheila triumphantly. “At any rate, for the present. I looked over her shoulder, and read every word of it. I will tell it you.”
She repeated the words. He had showed obvious signs of vexation at having just missed the woman he was hunting, and now his brow cleared.
“Very clever of you. Miss Monkton—very clever,” he said in appreciative tones. “Now, who is Herbert, that’s the question?”
“Stent, no doubt,” suggested Wingate, with a certain amount of rashness.
The detective regarded him with his kindly but somewhat quizzical smile. “I very much doubt if it is Stent, Mr Wingate. I sent a man down early this morning to St. Albans, where I believe he lives. I should say Herbert is another man altogether.” The young people readily accepted the professional’s theory. They recognised that they were only amateurs.
There was a long pause. They stood humbly waiting for the great man to speak, this man of lightning intuition and strategic resource.
It seemed an interminable time to the expectant listeners before he again opened his lips. Before he did speak, he pulled out his watch and noted the time.
“This may be important, and we cannot afford to lose a moment,” he said at length. “How do you stand, Mr Wingate, as regards time? Can you spare me the whole of the day?”
“The whole of to-day, to-morrow, and the next day, if it will help,” cried the young man fervently.