"Not one of the `nobs,' certainly," he answered at length, with a smile. "Semi-fashionable, I should say; moves in society with a small `s.' Her friends seem of two sorts, high-class Bohemians--you know the sort I mean,--and rich middle-class who spend money like water." "I see," said Smeaton. "And she lives in Hyde Park Mansions off the Edgware Road, or, to be more correct, Lisson Grove. She is evidently not rich." They bade each other a cordial good-day, Smeaton having first expressed his gratitude for the information, and left in the hall-porter's capacious palm a more substantial proof of his satisfaction. The next thing to be done was to interview the attractive widow. Before doing so, he looked in at Chesterfield Street, and, as he expected, found Wingate and Sheila together. He told them of the visit of Davies, and his subsequent conversation with the hall-porter at the Savoy. When he mentioned the name of Saxton, Sheila uttered an exclamation. "Why, Mr Farloe has a sister of the name of Saxton, a widow! He brought her once to one of our parties, and I remember she was very gushing. She begged me to go and see her at her flat, and I am pretty certain Hyde Park Mansions was the place she named, although I can't be positive." "Did you go. Miss Monkton?" "No. As I have told you, I never liked Mr Farloe, and I liked his sister less. She was pretty, and I think men would find her attractive. But there seemed to me an under-current of slyness and insincerity about her." It was rather a weakness of Wingate's that he credited himself with great analytical powers, and believed he was eminently suited to detective work. So he broke in: "Perhaps Miss Monkton and I could help you a bit, by keeping a watch on this woman. I have time to spare, and it would take her out of herself." Smeaton repressed a smile. Like most professionals, he had little faith in the amateur. But it would not be polite to say so. "By all means, Mr Wingate. We can do with assistance. 'Phone me up or call at Scotland Yard whenever you have anything to communicate. Now, I think I will be off to Hyde Park Mansions and see what sort of a customer Mrs Saxton is." A taxi bore him to his destination, and in a few moments he was ringing at the door of the flat. A neat maid admitted him, and in answer to his inquiries said her mistress was at home. "What name shall I say, please?" she asked in a hesitating voice. He produced his case and handed the girl a card. "Of course, you know I am a stranger," he explained. "Will you kindly take this to Mrs Saxton, and tell her that I will take up as little of her time as possible." After the delay of a few moments, he was shown into a pretty drawing-room, tastefully furnished. The lady was sitting at a tea-table, and alone.