He had dined, and it was getting on for half-past eight. No time to lose. In under ten minutes from the time the idea had struck him, he was at the door of Reginald Monkton's house. Grant showed him into the library, and took in the note. Sheila and Wingate had dined together, and were sitting in the drawing-room. The sad events had drawn them so closely together that they might now be said to be acknowledged lovers. Austin had never made any pretence of his regard for her, and Sheila was no longer reserved or elusive. She handed him the letter, and Wingate read it carefully. "I know the man a little," he said, when he had gathered the contents. "I belong to the Savage, and go there occasionally. He has the reputation of a brilliant journalist, and has written one or two quite good books on the subject of criminology. Suppose we have him in, and see what he wants. Smeaton is a first-class man, no doubt, but this chap unearthed the Balham mystery that baffled Scotland Yard; all London rang with it, at the time. A fresh brain might help us." Sheila yielded to her lover's suggestion. Privately, she thought etiquette demanded that they should first ring up to consult Smeaton as to whether the newcomer should be shown the door or not. But Wingate had been so good, so tender to her in her hour of trial, that she did not like to oppose him. Varney came in and at once made a good impression upon her. He was quite a gentleman; his voice and manner showed unmistakable signs of cultivation. He plunged at once into the matter without insincere apologies. Plenty of rumours were flying about, he explained, many of them, no doubt, quite baseless; most, or all of them, exaggerated. He had a faculty for this kind of investigation, and had been successful in a very complicated and baffling case at Balham. If they would give him first-hand information he would be pleased to place his services at their disposal. "You know, of course, that nothing will be allowed to appear in the Press," said Wingate, when the young journalist had finished. "The Home Secretary has given instructions to that effect." Varney admitted he was under the impression something of the kind had occurred. Otherwise his chief would have sent for him at once. "So you see I am not out for immediate kudos," he said, with a very frank smile. "Under different circumstances I daresay I should act very much like any other enterprising journalist anxious to establish a reputation." There was a moment's pause. Wingate looked at Sheila, and she returned his glance of inquiry. Should they trust this singular young man, who spoke with such apparent frankness? Or should they refer him to the detective-inspector who had the case in hand? Varney perceived their natural hesitation, and hastened to turn it in his favour.