Bruce looked out of the window, whistled, and said loudly, addressing a beautiful lady in short skirts who figured in a poster across the way: "Let me ring for some tea. All this talk makes one dry." CHAPTER XXVI LADY HELEN MONTGOMERY'S SON When the young people had gone--Mensmore ill at ease, though tremuously happy that Phyllis had so demonstrated her trust in him, Phyllis herself radiantly confident in the barrister's powers to set everything right--Bruce devoted himself to the task of determining a new line for his energies. The first step was self-evident. He must ascertain if the Dykes knew a Colonel Montgomery. He drove to the Club frequented by Sir Charles, but the baronet was not there, so he went to Wensley House. Sir Charles was at home, in his accustomed nook by the library fire. He looked ill and low-spirited. The temporary animation he had displayed during the past few weeks was gone. If anything, he was more listless than at any time since his wife's death. "Well, Claude," he said wearily, "anything to report?" "Yes, a good deal." "What is it?" "I want to ask you something. Did you ever know a Colonel Montgomery, or was your wife acquainted with any one of that name to your knowledge?" "I do not think she was. Had she ever met such a man I should probably have heard of him. Who was he?" The baronet's low state rendered his words careless and indefinite, but his friend did not wish to bother him unduly. "The police have discovered," he said, "that Mrs. Hillmer formed a close intimacy with some one whom she designated by that name and rank, though I have failed to trace any British officer who answers to his description. He disappeared, or died, as some people put it, about the same time as your wife." "Is it not known what became of him, then?" "No." "Won't Mrs. Hillmer tell you?" "She absolutely refuses to give any help, whatever." "On what ground?" "That is best known to herself. My theory is that a man she loves is implicated in the affair, and she is prepared to go to any lengths to shield him." "Ah!" Sir Charles bent over and poked the fire viciously. Then he murmured: "Women are queer creatures, Bruce. We men never understand them until too late. My wife and I did not to all appearance care a jot for one another while she lived. Yet I now realize that she loved me, and I would give the little remaining span of existence, dear as life is, to see her once more." This was a morbid subject; the younger man tried to switch him off it. "It is almost clear to me," he said, "that Colonel Montgomery's name was assumed. Few people realize the use of the _alias_ made in modern life. I have a notion that the custom among otherwise honorable people has arisen from the publicity given to the fact that Royal and other distinguished personages frequently choose to conceal their identity under less known territorial titles." "The idea is ingenious. We are all slaves to fashion."