“I have nothing whatever to do with the details of Shopland's investigations,” Francis protested. “He is in search of Reggie Wilmore.”
“Does he think I have secret dungeons in my new abode,” Sir Timothy demanded, “or oubliettes in which I keep and starve brainless youths for some nameless purpose? Be reasonable, Mr. Ledsam. What the devil benefit could accrue to me from abducting or imprisoning or in any way laying my criminal hand upon this young man?”
“None whatever that we have been able to discover as yet,” Francis admitted.
“A leaning towards melodrama, admirable in its way, needs the leaven of a well-balanced discretion and a sense of humour,” Sir Timothy observed. “The latter quality is as a rule singularly absent amongst the myrmidons of Scotland Yard. I do not think that Mr. Shopland will catch even fish in the neighbourhood of The Walled House. As regards your matrimonial proposal, let us waive that until my daughter returns.”
“As you will,” Francis agreed. “I will be frank to this extent, at any rate. If I can persuade your daughter to marry me, your consent will not affect the matter.”
“I can leave Margaret a matter of two million pounds,” Sir Timothy said pensively.
“I have enough money to support my wife myself,” Francis observed.
“Utopian but foolish,” Sir Timothy declared. “All the same, Mr. Ledsam, let me tell you this. You have a curious attraction for me. When I was asked why I had invited you to The Sanctuary last night, I frankly could not answer the question. I didn't know. I don't know. Your dislike of me doesn't seem to affect the question. I was glad to have you there last night. It pleases me to hear you talk, to hear your views of things. I feel that I shall have to be very careful, Mr. Ledsam, or—”
“Or what?” Francis demanded.
“Or I shall even welcome the idea of having you for a son-in-law,” Sir Timothy concluded reluctantly. “Make my excuses to Mr. Shopland. Au revoir!”