They waited at the corner of the Haymarket to cross the street. The traffic from the theatres was very congested, and the vehicles were crawling slowly westward. Suddenly Smeaton clutched at his companion's arm, and pointed to a taxi that was slowly passing them beneath the glare of the street lamps. "Look inside," he cried excitedly. Varney took a few quick paces forward, and peered through the closed window. He returned to Smeaton, his face aglow. "The parlourmaid at Forest View, otherwise Mrs Saxton, by all that's wonderful!" "Did you notice the man?" "No, I hadn't time. The driver started on at proper speed before I could focus him." "Do you know, the face in that gleam of light looked wonderfully like that of Reginald Monkton!" he said. "I committed the number of the taxi to memory. To-morrow, we shall know where it took them." Next morning, the taxi-driver was found, and told his tale simply and straightforwardly. "I picked them up in the Strand, sir, an elderly gent and a youngish lady. I was standing by the kerb, having just put down a fare. They had stepped out of another taxi a few yards below, they waited till it drove away, and then they came up and got into mine. I thought it a bit peculiar." "Where did you put them down?" "At the corner of Chesterfield Street, Mayfair. I asked them if I should wait, but the lady shook her head. The gentleman seemed ailing like; he walked very slow, and leaned heavily on her arm." Smeaton tipped the man, who in a few moments left his room. If it was Monkton, as he believed, why had he gone to Chesterfield Street? And having gone there, why had he alighted at the corner, instead of driving up to the house? In a few moments he took up the telephone receiver and asked for the number of Mr Monkton's house. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. STILL MORE MYSTERY. Grant answered the 'phone in Chesterfield Street. To Smeaton's inquiry, he replied that Miss Monkton had just left the house with Mr Wingate. They were lunching out somewhere, but she had left word that she would be back about three o'clock. "Any message, sir?" he concluded. "No, thank you. Grant. I want to see her rather particularly. I'll look round about three o'clock. I suppose she's likely to be pretty punctual?" Grant replied that, as a rule, she kept her time. He added, with the privileged freedom of an old servant: "But you know, sir, when young folk get together, they are not in a great hurry to part. And poor Miss Sheila hasn't much brightness in her life now. I don't know what she would do if it wasn't for Mr Wingate." About two o'clock Varney walked into Smeaton's room at Scotland Yard. He had taken an early morning train to Forest View, to find out what he could concerning the mysterious flitting. He had interviewed the house-agent at Horsham, and had learned a few facts which he communicated to the detective.