The Evil Shepherd Part 31

"Nothing definite, sir, but you can a.s.sure him of this. His brother is not likely to come to any particular harm. I have no absolute information to offer, but it is my impression that Mr. Reginald Wilmore will be home before a week is past. Good afternoon, sir."

Shopland stepped out of the taxicab and, raising his hat, walked quickly away. Francis directed the man to drive to Clarges Street. As they drove off, he was conscious of a folded piece of paper in the corner where his late companion had been seated. He picked it up, opened it, realised that it was a letter from a firm of lawyers, addressed to Shopland, and deliberately read it through. It was dated from a small town not far from Hatch End:

DEAR SIR:

Mr. John Phillips of this firm, who is coroner for the district, has desired me to answer the enquiry contained in your official letter of the 13th. The number of inquests held upon bodies recovered from the Thames in the neighbourhood to which you allude, during the present year has been seven. Four of these have been identified. Concerning the remaining three nothing has ever been heard.

Such particulars as are on our file will be available to any accredited representative of the police at any time.

Faithfully yours, PHILLIPS & SON.

The taxicab came to a sudden stop. Francis glanced up. Very breathless, Shopland put his head in at the window.

"I dropped a letter," he gasped.

Francis folded it up and handed it to him.

"What about these three unidentified people, Shopland?" he asked, looking at him intently.

The man frowned angrily. There was a note of defiance in his tone as he stowed the letter away in his pocketbook.

"There were two men and one woman," he replied, "all three of the upper cla.s.ses. The bodies were recovered from Wilson's lock, some three hundred yards from The Walled House."

"Do they form part of your case?" Francis persisted.

Shopland stepped back.

"Mr. Ledsam," he said, "I told you, some little time ago, that so far as this particular case was concerned I had no confidences to share with you. I am sorry that you saw that letter. Since you did, however, I hope you will not take it as a liberty from one in my position if I advise you most strenuously to do nothing which might impede the course of the law. Good day, sir!"

CHAPTER XXIV

Francis, in that pleasant half-hour before dinner which he spent in Margaret's sitting-room, told her of the dogs' home near Wardour Street.

She listened sympathetically to his description of the place.

"I had never heard of it," she acknowledged, "but I am not in anyway surprised. My father spends at least an hour of every day, when he is down at Hatch End, amongst the horses, and every time a fresh crock is brought down, he is as interested as though it were a new toy."

"It is a remarkable trait in a very remarkable character," Francis commented.

"I could tell you many things that would surprise you," Margaret continued. "One night, for instance, when we were staying at The Sanctuary, he and I were going out to dine with some neighbours and he heard a cat mewing in the hedge somewhere. He stopped the car, got out himself, found that the cat had been caught in a trap, released it, and sent me on to the dinner alone whilst he took the animal back to the veterinary surgeon at The Walled House. He was simply white with fury whilst he was tying up the poor thing's leg. I couldn't help asking him what he would have done if he could have found the farmer who set the trap. He looked up at me and I was almost frightened. 'I should have killed him,' he said,--and I believe he meant it. And, Francis, the very next day we were motoring to London and saw a terrible accident. A motor bicyclist came down a side road at full speed and ran into a motor-lorry. My father got out of the car, helped them lift the body from under the wheels of the lorry, and came back absolutely unmoved.

'Serve the silly young fool right!' was his only remark. He was so horribly callous that I could scarcely bear to sit by his side. Do you understand that?"

"It isn't easy," he admitted.

There was a knock at the door. Margaret glanced at the clock.

"Surely dinner can't be served already!" she exclaimed. "Come in."

Very much to their surprise, it was Sir Timothy himself who entered. He was in evening dress and wearing several orders, one of which Francis noted with surprise.

"My apologies," he said. "Hedges told me that there were c.o.c.ktails here, and as I am on my way to a rather weary dinner, I thought I might inflict myself upon you for a moment."

Margaret rose at once to her feet.

"I am a shocking hostess," she declared. "Hedges brought the things in twenty minutes ago."

She took up the silver receptacle, shook it vigorously and filled three gla.s.ses. Sir Timothy accepted his and bowed to them both.

"My best wishes," he said. "Really, when one comes to think of it, however much it may be against my inclinations I scarcely see how I shall be able to withhold my consent. I believe that you both have at heart the flair for domesticity. This little picture, and the thought of your tete-a-tete dinner, almost touches me."

"Don't make fun of us, father," Margaret begged. "Tell us where you are going in all that splendour?"

Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders.

"A month or so ago," he explained, "I was chosen to induct a scion of Royalty into the understanding of fighting as it is indulged in at the National Sporting Club. This, I suppose, is my reward--an invitation to something in the nature of a State dinner, which, to tell you the truth, I had forgotten until my secretary pointed it out to me this afternoon.

I have grave fears of being bored or of misbehaving myself. I have, as Ledsam here knows, a distressing habit of truthfulness, especially to new acquaintances. However, we must hope for the best. By-the-bye, Ledsam, in case you should have forgotten, I have spoken to Hedges about the '99 Cliquot."

"Shall we see you here later?" Margaret asked, after Francis had murmured his thanks.

"I shall probably return direct to Hatch End," Sir Timothy replied.

"There are various little matters down there which are interesting me just now preparations for my party. Au revoir! A delicious c.o.c.ktail, but I am inclined to resent the Angostura."

He sauntered out, after a glance at the clock. They heard his footsteps as he descended the stairs.

"Tell me, what manner of a man is your father?" Francis asked impulsively.

"I am his daughter and I do not know," Margaret answered. "Before he came, I was going to speak to you of a strange misunderstanding which has existed between us and which has just been removed. Now I have a fancy to leave it until later. You will not mind?"

"When you choose," Francis a.s.sented. "Nothing will make any difference.

We are past the days when fathers or even mothers count seriously in the things that exist between two people like you and me, who have felt life. Whatever your father may be, whatever he may turn out to be, you are the woman I love--you are the woman who is going to be my wife."

She leaned towards him for a moment.

"You have an amazing gift," she whispered, "of saying just the thing one loves to hear in the way that convinces."

Dinner was served to them in the smaller of the two dining-rooms, an exquisite meal, made more wonderful still by the wine, which Hedges himself dispensed with jealous care. The presence of servants, with its restraining influence upon conversation, was not altogether unwelcome to Francis. He and Margaret had had so little opportunity for general conversation that to discuss other than personal subjects in this pleasant, leisurely way had its charm. They spoke of music, of which she knew far more than he; of foreign travel, where they met on common ground, for each had only the tourist's knowledge of Europe, and each was anxious for a more individual acquaintance with it. She had tastes in books which delighted him, a knowledge of games which promised a common resource. It was only whilst they were talking that he realised with a shock how young she was, how few the years that lay between her serene school-days and the tempestuous years of her married life. Her school-days in Naples were most redolent of delightful memories. She broke off once or twice into the language, and he listened with delight to her soft accent. Finally the time came when dessert was set upon the table.

"I have ordered coffee up in the little sitting-room again," she said, a little shyly. "Do you mind, or would you rather have it here?"

"I much prefer it there," he a.s.sured her.

They sat before an open window, looking out upon some elm trees in the boughs of which town sparrows twittered, and with a background of roofs and chimneys. Margaret's coffee was untasted, even her cigarette lay unlit by her side. There was a touch of the old horror upon her face.

The fingers which he drew into his were as cold as ice.

"You must have wondered sometimes," she began, "why I ever married Oliver Hilditch."