The young man was sensible enough to know that he could never aspire to the hand of the Cabinet Minister's daughter, yet a true and close friendship had quickly sprung up between her father and himself, with the result that Wingate was now a frequent and welcome visitor to the cosy old-world house in Mayfair, and as proof the well-known statesman had accepted Austin's invitation to lunch at the Carlton on that well-remembered day of the Cabinet meeting, the true importance of which is only known to those who were present at the deliberations in Downing Street that morning. Curious, indeed, were the events that were to follow, events known only to a few, and here chronicled for the first time. CHAPTER TWO. THE DISCOVERY IN CHESTERFIELD STREET. In the absence of her father, Sheila Monkton was compelled to entertain her guests at dinner alone. There were three: Sir Pemberton Wheeler and his young dark-haired wife Cicely, an old schoolfellow of Sheila's, and Austin Wingate. They were a merry quartette as they sat in the cosy dining-room in Chesterfield Street, a few doors from Curzon Street, waited on by Grant, the white-headed, smooth-faced old butler who had been in the service of Monkton's father before him. The house was an old-fashioned Georgian one. Upon the iron railings was a huge extinguisher, recalling the days of linkmen and coaches, while within was a long, rather narrow hall and a spiral staircase of stone worn hollow by the tread of five generations. The rooms were not large, but very tastefully, even luxuriously, furnished, with many fine paintings, pieces of beautiful statuary, and magnificent bronzes, while everywhere were soft carpets upon which one's feet fell noiselessly. In that house, indeed in that very room wherein the four sat laughing in the June twilight, the pale-pink shades of the lamps shedding a soft glow over the table with its flowers and silver, many of the most prominent British statesmen had been entertained by the Colonial Secretary, and many a State secret had been discussed within those four dark-painted walls. "The Prime Minister dined with us last Thursday," Sheila remarked to Cicely Wheeler. "Lord Horsham came in later, and they had one of their private conferences." "Which meant that you were left to amuse yourself alone, eh?" laughed Sir Pemberton Wheeler, and he glanced mischievously towards Austin on the other side of the table. "Yes. That is quite true." Sheila laughed, instantly grasping his meaning. "Mr Wingate did not happen to be here. When father has a political dinner no ladies are invited. Some of those dinners are horribly boring, I can assure you," declared the girl. "Their eternal discussion of this measure and the other measure, and-- oh! how they all intrigue, one Party against the other! Do you know that I've sat here and heard some most remarkable schemes." "Secrets, I suppose?" remarked Austin, twisting the stem of his windlass between his fingers.