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She moved a little uneasily in her place. Her tone, nevertheless, remained icy. "Could you possibly manage to avoid personalities in your conversation, Mr. Ledsam?" she begged. "I have tried already to tell you how I feel about such things." She was certainly difficult. Francis realised that with a little sigh. "Were you surprised to see me with your father?" he asked, a little inanely.
Francis Ledsam was of a sturdier type, with features perhaps better known to the world owing to the constant activities of the cartoonist. His reputation during the last few years had carried him, notwithstanding his comparative youth he was only thirty-five years of age into the very front ranks of his profession, and his income was one of which men spoke with bated breath.
People hurried out then as though their one desire was to escape from the scene of the tragedy. Lady Cynthia, still clinging to Francis' arm, led him to the furthermost corner of the launch. There were real tears in her eyes, her breath was coming in little sobs. "Oh, it was horrible!" she cried. "Horrible! Mr. Ledsam I can't help it I never want to speak to Sir Timothy again!"
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?"
He scarcely seemed man enough for a murderer, did he, when he sat quaking on that stool in Soto's Bar while Mr. Ledsam tortured him? I beg you again not to hurry, Miss Hyslop. At any rate wait while my servants fetch you a taxi. It was clouding over when I came in. We may even have a thunderstorm." "I want to get out of this house," Daisy Hyslop declared. "I think you are all horrible. Mr.
You will know then what you have to face." Margaret herself opened the door and looked in. "What have those people been doing here?" she asked. "What is happening?" Her father unlocked his drawer once more and drew out another of the red cards. "Margaret," he said, "Ledsam here has accepted my invitation for Thursday night. You have never, up till now, honoured me, nor have I ever asked you.
They passed back through the postern-gate into the gardens of The Sanctuary. Sir Timothy led the way towards the house. "I am glad that you decided to spend the night, Mr. Ledsam," he said. "The river sounds a terribly hackneyed place to the Londoner, but it has beauties which only those who live with it can discover. Mind your head. My ceilings are low."
"Mr. Ledsam, are you going to attach yourself to me, or has Margaret annexed you?" "I have offered myself to Mrs. Hilditch," Francis rejoined promptly, "but so far I have made no impression." "Try her with a punt and a concertina after dinner," Lady Cynthia suggested. "After all, I came down here to better my acquaintance with my host.
"Listen, you fellows!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Francis Ledsam, the great criminal barrister, is going to solve the mystery of poor old Victor's death for us!" The three other young men all turned around from the bar. Their eyes and whole attention seemed rivetted upon Francis.
"I call it a crime to expect a body of intelligent men to administer without emolument to the greed of such a crowd of rotters. You'll get the right stuff next week." The hall-porter approached and addressed Wilmore. "Mr. Ledsam is outside in a taxi, sir," he announced. "Outside in a taxi?" the lawyer repeated. "Why on earth can't he come in?" "I never heard such rot," another declared.
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