“How the dickens did you know I was down there?” Francis demanded, with some surprise. “I was just thinking as I drove up that I hadn't left my address either here or at Clarges Street.”
“Next time you visit Sir Timothy,” the detective observed, “I should advise you to do so. I knew you were there, Mr. Ledsam, because I was in the neighbourhood myself. I have been doing a little fishing, and keeping my eye on that wonderful estate of Sir Timothy's.”
Francis was interested.
“Shopland,” he said, “I believe that our intelligences, such as they are, are akin.”
“What do you suspect Sir Timothy of?” the detective asked bluntly.
“I suspect him of nothing,” Francis replied. “He is simply, to my mind, an incomprehensible, somewhat sinister figure, who might be capable of anything. He may have very excellent qualities which he contrives to conceal, or he may be an arch-criminal. His personality absolutely puzzles me.”
There was a knock at the door and Angrave appeared. Apparently he had forgotten Shopland's presence, for he ushered in another visitor.
“Sir Timothy Brast to see you, sir,” he announced.
The moment was one of trial to every one, admirably borne. Shopland remained in his chair, with only a casual glance at the newcomer. Francis rose to his feet with a half-stifled expression of anger at the clumsiness of his clerk. Sir Timothy, well-shaven and groomed, attired in a perfectly-fitting suit of grey flannel, nodded to Francis in friendly fashion and laid his Homburg hat upon the table with the air of a familiar.
“My dear Ledsam,” he said, “I do hope that you will excuse this early call. I could only have been an hour behind you on the road. I dare say you can guess what I have come to see you about. Can we have a word together?”