The detective grinned. "One that we only knew of yesterday. A charge
of fraud in connection with certain rubber property. Another man of the
name of Whyman is in it, but he seems to have got clear away."
Varney, his brain in a whirl, took his way back to Scotland Yard, still
in his costume of a working-man.
"Well, what does it all mean?" he gasped, when he got into Smeaton's
room.
The great detective smiled genially. "It means, my dear Varney, that we
are nearing the end of the Monkton mystery which has baffled us so
long."
"And the solution?" queried the other eagerly.
"That I cannot tell you yet. But when it does come, I am afraid neither
you nor I will reap much glory out of it."
And Varney could get nothing out of him except those few cryptic words.
"Something has happened quite recently?" he hazarded.
The detective answered with that same slow, wise smile of his.
"Perhaps. I can tell you nothing more now. Wait a moment, till I
answer that telephone."
A few words passed, and then he turned to Varney. "My men report they
have laid Stent and Bolinski by the heels on the charge of fraud."