Francis rose at once to his feet.
“I was just leaving,” he said. “I will look in at the library and see Sir Timothy on my way out.”
CHAPTER XXV
Sir Timothy was standing upon the hearthrug of the very wonderful apartment which he called his library. By his side, on a black marble pedestal, stood a small statue by Rodin. Behind him, lit by a shielded electric light, was a Vandyck, “A Portrait of a Gentleman Unknown,” and Francis, as he hesitated for a moment upon the threshold, was struck by a sudden quaint likeness between the face of the man in the picture, with his sunken cheeks, his supercilious smile, his narrowed but powerful eyes, to the face of Sir Timothy himself. There was something of the same spirit there—the lawless buccaneer, perhaps the criminal.
“You asked for me, Sir Timothy,” Francis said.
Sir Timothy smiled.
“I was fortunate to find that you had not left,” he answered. “I want you to be present at this forthcoming interview. You are to a certain extent in the game. I thought it might amuse you.”
Francis for the first time was aware that his host was not alone. The room, with its odd splashes of light, was full of shadows, and he saw now that in an easy-chair a little distance away from Sir Timothy, a girl was seated. Behind her, still standing, with his hat in his hand, was a man. Francis recognised them both with surprise.
“Miss Hyslop!” he exclaimed.