"The Compagnia Corezzo gives us a clue--eh?--the initials `C.C.,' which are the initials on the envelope. Was it an envelope from the company's office? You say that the old engraver thought the man who ordered the cipher came from Manchester or Liverpool. Roselli tells us we can find his man in Manchester?" Smeaton rose. "I'm in hopes that something may come out of it all," he said, as they shook hands. "Anyway, stay down here, and keep a close watch on the place. An inquest will be held and sooner or later something of importance will happen. I've kept the taxi waiting; shall I give you a lift to Horsham? But I noticed a bike outside the inn-door. I suppose it is yours." Varney nodded. "Yes, it is part of my machinery. I shall go for a good long spin, and think over all that has happened." As Smeaton put his foot on the step of the taxi a sudden thought struck him. He turned back, and drew the young man aside. "Keep your eye on the parlourmaid especially," he whispered. "If we ever get to the bottom of it, we shall find she plays an important part in this mystery." "I quite agree," was Varney's answer, as the two men finally parted. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. ANOTHER MYSTERY. Next day Smeaton sat in his official room, puzzling over the Monkton case, and sorely perplexed. He had followed several trails now, but all, it seemed, to no purpose. Farloe and his sister had been shadowed without any result. The visit to Millington had ended in failure. Varney had discovered something, and he would follow the clue with the pertinacity of a bloodhound pursuing a faint and elusive scent. But he himself was thoroughly disheartened. There suddenly came a tap at the door, and a constable entered. "A very old gentleman wants to see you, sir. He says you will remember him," and he handed the detective a slip of paper on which was written "Mr Millington." "The gentleman seems to have one foot in the grave, and half of the other, to judge by appearances," the constable went on. "The journey has tried him terribly. He's wheezing so, that you'd think each moment would be his last. I made him sit down, and he's trying to recover himself and get his breath." Smeaton sprang up. It was with difficulty he could retain his official calm. This plucky old man had not made the journey up to town for nothing. He had remembered something, or discovered something. "That's right. Baker," he said. "Give him time, and when he is ready, show him in." It was a full five minutes before Millington was in a fit state to present himself. At last he entered, still husky of voice, but with a beaming aspect. Smeaton greeted him cordially. "Mr Millington, this is indeed good of you. But why did you distress yourself with the journey? If you had sent me a wire, I would have run down to you," he said. "I owe you some amends, sir, for my failure yesterday. And besides, a little jaunt does me good."