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. "There is a fairly fast train from Victoria in forty minutes from now. You have plenty of time to catch it. I want you to go to the post-office in Brighton, and get hold of that telegram." "But it is addressed to the name of Herbert." "No matter," said Smeaton, a little impatiently. "If the real Herbert has not been before you--and I should guess it is an unexpected message--they will hand it to you; they are too busy to be particular. If he has already been, trump up a tale that he is a friend of yours, and not being sure that he would be able to call himself, had asked you to look in for it, so as to make sure." "I see," said Wingate. He felt an increased admiration for the professional detective. He was not quite sure that he would have been ready with this glib explanation. "I should love to go too," said Sheila, looking wistfully at the ever-resourceful Smeaton, whom she now frankly accepted as the disposer of their destinies. "Forgive me if I oppose you this once, my dear Miss Monkton," he said in his kindest and most diplomatic manner. "Two are not always company in detective business, unless they've been trained to work together. Besides, I shall want Mr Wingate to keep in close touch with me on the 'phone, and he will have no time to look after a lady." Having settled that matter, he turned to Wingate. "First of all, here are a couple of my cards; one to show the post-office if there is anything awkward--this for the chief constable of Brighton if you have need of his assistance. I will scribble an introduction on it." He suited the action to the word. "Now, the sooner you are off the better. I will put Miss Monkton into a taxi. You be off, and try to get hold of that wire."