The man smiled once more, and the very smile irritated his companion.
“Within the course of the next few days, sir,” he replied.
“And the charge?”
The detective turned around.
“Mr. Ledsam,” he said, “we have been old friends, if you will allow me to use the word, ever since I was promoted to my present position in the Force. You have trusted me with a good many cases, and I acknowledge myself your debtor, but in the matter of Sir Timothy Brast, you will forgive my saying with all respect, sir, that our ways seem to lie a little apart.”
“Will you tell me why you have arrived at that conclusion?” Francis asked. “It was I who first incited you to set a watch upon Sir Timothy. It was to you I first mentioned certain suspicions I myself had with regard to him. I treated you with every confidence. Why do you now withhold yours from me?”
“It is quite true, Mr. Ledsam,” Shopland admitted, “that it was you who first pointed out Sir Timothy as an interesting study for my profession, but that was a matter of months ago. If you will forgive my saying so, your relations with Sir Timothy have altered since then. You have been his guest at The Sanctuary, and there is a rumour, sir—you will pardon me if I seem to be taking a liberty—that you are engaged to be married to his daughter, Oliver Hilditch's widow.”
“You seem to be tolerably well informed as to my affairs, Shopland,” Francis remarked.
“Only so far as regards your associations with Sir Timothy,” was the deprecating reply. “If you will excuse me, sir, this is where I should like to descend.”
“You have no message for Mr. Wilmore, then?” Francis asked.