"You are quite sure that the police have not traced you yet?"

"Absolutely," came Stent's reply. He added, in his grimmest manner; "I've not given them a chance."

They talked on for a long time, the elder man combating sometimes half humorously, sometimes with ill-concealed irritation, the pessimism of the other. At length when he rose it was nearly three o'clock.

"You will let me put you up for the night," urged Farloe.

"To be in time for the Paris train in the morning?" laughed the other.

"No, thanks, my friend. I want to be somewhere else about that time."

He had drunk a good deal during the interview, and Farloe knew that he was getting into one of those dare-devil moods, in which it was rather dangerous to play with him, or to cross him.

"As you please," he said, a little sullenly. "I hope you are quite right in your confidence that they have not got on our tracks yet."

"Make your mind easy, my dear chap. Your sister took care of that by putting our friend Smeaton on a wrong scent. I have often laughed when I thought of them hunting every nook and corner around St Albans for the gentleman with whom she had only a casual acquaintance."

Farloe made no reply. Stent held out one hand, and with the other clapped the young man on the shoulder with rough good humour.

"Good-night, old man. Go to bed and sleep soundly, for I'm going. And, I say, don't bring me out again on a midnight ride like this unless there is very strong reason. Now, just a last word--and I say it in all seriousness--I am not a bit discouraged by what you have told me. Let them smell about, but they'll find nothing."

He turned to the door, and fired a parting shot:

"Now, you follow my advice not to give way to idle fancies, and you'll turn out as well as any of us. And we shall all be proud of you. Once again, good-night."

As he spoke the last word, the telephone bell rang, and he paused, and turned round.

Farloe looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.

"Past three, by Jove! There's only one person would ring me up at this time of night. It's Maude. Perhaps it is important; you had better stay a moment," he said.

Stent stayed. Farloe took off the receiver, and listened for a little time to the voice at the other end. Although Stent could not distinguish the words, now and then he caught an inflection that he recognised. Farloe's conjecture was right. It was Mrs Saxton who had rung him up.

Then Stent heard the young man's reply.

"Hold on a minute, he is here. He was just going when you rang."

He beckoned to Stent. "She wanted me to send you word that she wished to meet you. You can arrange it with her yourself."

They talked for a few seconds. At one of her remarks Stent laughed heartily. He turned to Farloe.

"She is suggesting that we don't make it the Knightsbridge Tube Station." Then he turned again to the instrument.

"That was a capital move of yours; your brother has just been telling me about it. Really, I think just now it might be as convenient a place as any; they would never think you would have the cheek to go there again so soon. Let us meet at the old spot. That's safe enough. To-morrow then. All right. Good-bye."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE OCCUPIER OF FOREST VIEW.

When Mason, Detective-Sergeant, C.I.D., with crestfallen air narrated the history of his adventures with the elusive Mrs Saxton, he had expected his chief to indulge in a few sarcastic comments. But Smeaton only shrugged his shoulders expressively. After all, he had come off only second best in his encounter with her himself.

"A very clever woman, Mason," he said, after some hesitation. "I found that out at the start. It means she has made a bolt of it. It will be some time before Hyde Park Mansions sees her again."

He was right. Three days elapsed, and the fugitive did not return. On the fourth, Mason, acting in accordance with instructions, went boldly up to the flat and rang the bell.

The neat-looking maid told him that her mistress had gone abroad.

Mason affected to be very much put out. "Dear me, it's very annoying.

I wanted to see her on most urgent business. Can you oblige me with her address?"

"She didn't leave one, sir. She said she would be back in a month or six weeks, and would be travelling about from place to place all the time. She told us that any letters could wait till her return."

Mason observed her sharply while she gave this information in quite a natural manner. She seemed a simple, innocent kind of girl. Of course, she might be in league with the escaped woman, but he was rather inclined to believe she was telling the truth.

Mrs Saxton had begun to find the atmosphere a trifle uncomfortable, and had duped her servants with this story of going abroad, he reasoned with himself. She might give London itself a wide berth, but she was somewhere near where she could be in pretty close touch with her friends. Of that he was certain.

Things, therefore, were at a deadlock as concerned Stent and this woman.

Meanwhile, young Varney, confident that Farloe was a mysterious and important connecting link, kept a steady watch upon the chambers in Ryder Street.

For the first three days his exertions went unrewarded. But on the fourth he followed Farloe in a taxi to the Great Eastern Hotel, in Liverpool Street, where he was joined by a man whom, by his strongly marked aquiline features and piercing eyes, he suspected to be the elusive Stent.

When the pair left the hotel, he followed them. It was the luncheon hour, and the city streets were crowded. For full five minutes he kept them in sight, and then he became separated and lost them.

On the second occasion he was more fortunate. About three o'clock one afternoon the pair came forth from Farloe's chambers, and together walked leisurely, talking earnestly the while.

As far as Victoria Station they went together to the Brighton line.

There they parted. The elder man entered the booking-hall of the London and Brighton line, and asked for a ticket to Horsham. Varney did the same.

It was a slow train, and half-empty. When Horsham was reached, only three pa.s.sengers alighted: himself, the man he was watching, and a young woman.

He inquired of the ticket-collector if at any place near he could hire a cycle, as he thought of coming down for a week's holiday, and would like to explore the country for an hour or so.

The man directed him to a shop close by. He seemed a very civil young fellow, and Varney chatted with him for a few seconds.

"By the way," he said, as he moved away. "That gentleman who went out just now--isn't he Mr Emerson, the well-known barrister?"

The young man shook his head. "No, sir. Mr Strange has recently come to live here, about five months ago. He's taken Forest View, an old-fashioned house a mile and a half away."

"Curious," remarked the amateur detective, in a voice of well-feigned surprise. "Really, how very easily one may be mistaken. I see Mr Emerson three or four times each week, and I could have sworn it was he."

The ticket-collector smiled civilly, but made no reply. He was not interested in this sudden creation of Varney's lively imagination.

The journalist crossed to the cycle shop and there hired a machine, paying down the usual deposit. He wheeled it until he met a small boy, from whom he inquired the whereabouts of Forest View.

He was on the right road, the boy informed him. The house with green iron gates lay on the left-hand side. His machine would take him there in a few minutes.

However, he did not mount it, as in that case he would quickly overtake Mr Strange, who was proceeding there on foot. He preferred that this gentleman should get there first, so as to give him an opportunity of having a good look round.

Twenty minutes' easy walking brought him to the big iron gates of Forest View. He had seen the man disappear within, about a couple of hundred yards in front of him. There was not a soul in sight; he could reconnoitre at his leisure.