The detective hesitated.
“I should prefer an invitation for myself,” he declared bluntly.
Sir Timothy shook his head.
“Alas, my dear Mr. Shopland,” he regretted, “that is impossible! If I had only myself to consider I would not hesitate. Personally I like you. You amuse me more than any one I have met for a long time. But unfortunately I have my guests to consider! You must be satisfied with Mr. Ledsam's report.”
Shopland stroked his stubbly moustache. It was obvious that he was not in the least disconcerted.
“There are three days between now and then,” he reflected.
“During those three days, of course,” Sir Timothy said drily, “I shall do my best to obliterate all traces of my various crimes. Still, you are a clever detective, and you can give Mr. Ledsam a few hints. Take my advice. You won't get that search warrant, and if you apply for it none of you will be at my party.”
“I accept,” Shopland decided.
Sir Timothy crossed the room, unlocked the drawer of a magnificent writing-table, and from a little packet drew out two cards of invitation. They were of small size but thick, and the colour was a brilliant scarlet. On one he wrote the name of Francis, the other he filled in for Miss Hyslop.
“Miss Daisy Hyslop,” he said, “shall we drink a glass of wine together on Thursday evening, and will you decide that although, perhaps, I am not a very satisfactory correspondent, I can at least be an amiable host?”