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I see that even in his overcoat our friend is swimmer enough to reach the bank. You find our methods harsh, Ledsam?" he asked, turning a challenging gaze towards the latter. Francis, who had been watching Shopland come to the surface, shrugged his shoulders. He delayed answering for a moment while he watched the detective, disdaining the life-belt, swim to the opposite shore.
"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.
Nothing whatever, that is to say, except one almost insignificant thing." "And that?" "A slight tendency towards bad company, sir. I have heard of his being about with one or two whom we are keeping our eye upon." "Bobby Fairfax's lot, by any chance?" Shopland nodded. "He was with Jacks and Miss Daisy Hyslop, a night or two before he disappeared.
"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.
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.
I heard, only the other day, that while he was wonderfully hospitable and charming to all his guests, he never remembered them outside his house." Shopland nodded. "A convenient eccentricity," he remarked, a little drily. "I have heard the same thing myself. You spent the night at his country cottage, did you not, Mr. Ledsam? Did he offer to show you over The Walled House?"
Shopland gave the driver an address and the two men seated themselves in the taxicab. "Any news?" Francis asked curiously. "Not yet," was the cautious reply. "It will not be long, however." "Before you discover Reggie Wilmore?" The detective smiled in a superior way. "I am no longer particularly interested in Mr. Reginald Wilmore," he declared.
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.
"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 classes. The bodies were recovered from Wilson's lock, some three hundred yards from The Walled House."
"Precisely so, sir," the detective agreed. "But, all the same, I don't think it was." "Neither do I, sir." Francis smiled slightly. "Shopland," he said, "if there is no further external evidence to be collected, I suggest that there is only one person likely to prove of assistance to you." "And that one person, sir?" "Miss Daisy Hyslop." "The young lady whom I have already seen?" Francis nodded.
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