HD WIDENER
HW KYRY Z
THE EVIL
SHEPHERD
E.PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM


234.47.11.!!0

STATE/
HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY











THE EVIL SHEPHERD









For a time their knives stabbed the empty air, but
from the first the end seemed certain.
FRONTISPIECE. See page 289.


THE
EVIL SHEPHERD
Ву
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
ERNEST FUHR

BONQS. HABEASZ
EQVAM.MVLTOSA
WVOGES
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1922


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HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
Copyright, 1922,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
All rights reserved
Published September, 1922
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


2324617.11.11
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
Copyright, 1922,
By LITTLE, Brown, AND COMPANY.
All rights reserved
Published September, 1922
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


THE EVIL SHEPHERD


THE EVIL SHEPHERD





THE EVIL SHEPHERD
CHAPTER I
FRANCIS LEDSAM, alert, well-satisfied with himself
and the world, the echo of a little buzz of congratu-
lations still in his ears, paused on the steps of the
modern Temple of Justice to light a cigarette before
calling for a taxi to take him to his club. Visions of
a whisky and soda — his throat was a little parched
- and a rubber of easy-going bridge at his favourite
table, were already before his eyes. A woman who
had followed him from the Court touched him on the
shoulder.
“ Can I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Ledsam?”
The barrister frowned slightly as he swung around
to confront his questioner. It was such a familiar
form of address.
“ What do you want?” he asked, a little curtly.
“ A few minutes' conversation with you,” was the
calm reply. “The matter is important."
The woman's tone and manner, notwithstanding
her plain, inconspicuous clothes, commanded atten-
tion. Francis Ledsam was a little puzzled. Small
things meant much to him in life, and he had been
looking forward almost with the zest of a schoolboy
to that hour of relaxation at his club. He was im-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
patient of even a brief delay, a sentiment which he
tried to express in his response.
“What do you want to speak to me about?” he
repeated bluntly. “I shall be in my rooms in the
Temple to-morrow morning, any time after eleven.”
“ It is necessary for me to speak to you now," she
insisted. “ There is a tea-shop across the way.
Please accompany me there."
Ledsam, a little surprised at the coolness of her
request, subjected his accoster to a closer scrutiny.
As he did so, his irritation diminished. He shrugged
his shoulders slightly.
“ If you really have business with me,” he said,
“ I will give you a few minutes."
They crossed the street together, the woman self-
possessed, negative, wholly without the embarrass-
ment of one performing an unusual action. Her
companion felt the awakening of curiosity. Zeal-
ously though she had, to all appearance, endeavoured
to conceal the fact, she was without a doubt person-
able. Her voice and manner lacked nothing of re-
finement. Yet her attraction to Francis Ledsam,
who, although a perfectly normal human being, was
no seeker after promiscuous adventures, did not lie in
these externals. As a barrister whose success at the
criminal bar had been phenomenal, he had attained
to a certain knowledge of human nature. He was
able, at any rate, to realise that this woman was no
imposter. He knew that she had vital things to say.
They passed into the tea-shop and found an empty
corner. Ledsam hung up his hat and gave an order.
The woman slowly began to remove her gloves. When
she pushed back her veil, her vis-à-vis received almost


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
a shock. She was quite as good-looking as he had
imagined, but she was far younger — she was indeed
little more than a girl. Her eyes were of a deep
shade of hazel brown, her eyebrows were delicately
marked, her features and poise admirable. Yet her
skin was entirely colourless. She was as pale as one
whose eyes have been closed in death. Her lips, al-
though in no way highly coloured, were like streaks
of scarlet blossom upon a marble image. The con-
trast between her appearance and that of her com-
panion was curiously marked. Francis Ledsam con-
formed in no way to the accepted physical type of
his profession. He was over six feet in height, broad-
shouldered and powerfully made. His features were
cast in a large mould, he was of fair, almost sandy
complexion, even his mouth was more humourous than
incisive. His eyes alone, grey and exceedingly mag-
netic, suggested the gifts which without a doubt lay
behind his massive forehead.
“I am anxious to avoid any possible mistake,” she
began. “Your name is Francis Ledsam?”
“ It is,” he admitted.
“ You are the very successful criminal barrister,"
she continued, “ who has just been paid an extrava-
gant fee to defend Oliver Hilditch.”
“I might take exception to the term 'extrava-
gant,” Ledsam observed drily. “ Otherwise, your
information appears to be singularly correct. I do
not know whether you have heard the verdict. If
not, you may be interested to know that I succeeded
in obtaining the man's acquittal.”
“I know that you did,” the woman replied. “I
was in the Court when the verdict was brought, in.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
It has since occurred to me that I should like you to
understand exactly what you have done, the respon-
sibility you have incurred.”
Ledsam raised his eyebrows.
“Responsibility?" he repeated. «What I have
done is simple enough. I have earned a very large
fee and won my case.”
“ You have secured the acquittal of Oliver Hil-
ditch,” she persisted. “He is by this time a free
man. Now I am going to speak to you of that re-
sponsibility. I am going to tell you a little about
the man who owes his freedom to your eloquence.”
It was exactly twenty minutes after their entrance
into the tea-shop when the woman finished her mono-
logue. She began to draw on her gloves again. Be-
fore them were two untasted cups of tea and an un-
touched plate of bread and butter. From a corner of
the room the waitress was watching them curiously.
“Good God!” Francis Ledsam exclaimed at last,
suddenly realising his whereabouts. “Do you mean
to affirm solemnly that what you have been telling
me is the truth?”
The woman continued to button her gloves.
“ It is the truth,” she said.
Ledsam sat up and looked around him. He was a
little dazed. He had almost the feeling of a man
recovering from the influence of some anæsthetic.
Before his eyes were still passing visions of terrible
deeds, of naked, ugly passion, of man's unscrupulous
savagery. During those few minutes he had been
transported to New York and Paris, London and
Rome. Crimes had been spoken of which made the
murder for which Oliver Hilditch had just been tried


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
seem like a trifling indiscretion. Hard though his
mentality, sternly matter-of-fact as was his outlook,
he was still unable to fully believe in himself, his sur-
roundings, or in this woman who had just dropped
a veil over her ashen cheeks. Reason persisted in
asserting itself.
“ But if you knew all this,” he demanded, “ why on
earth didn't you come forward and give evidence? ”
“Because," she answered calmly, as she rose to
her feet, “my evidence would not have been admis-
sible. I am Oliver Hilditch's wife.”


CHAPTER II
FRANCIS LEDSAM arrived at his club, the Sheridan,
an hour later than he had anticipated. He nodded
to the veteran hall-porter, hung up his hat and stick,
and climbed the great staircase to the card-room
without any distinct recollection of performing any
of these simple and reasonable actions. In the card-
room he exchanged a few greetings with friends, ac-
cepted without comment or without the slightest
tinge of gratification a little chorus of chaffing con-
gratulations upon his latest triumph, and left the
room without any inclination to play, although there
was a vacant place at his favourite table. From
sheer purposelessness he wandered back again into
the hall, and here came his first gleam of returning
sensation. He came face to face with his most inti-
mate friend, Andrew Wilmore. The latter, who had
just hung up his coat and hat, greeted him with a
growl of welcome.
“ So you've brought it off again, Francis ! ”
“ Touch and go," the barrister remarked. “I
managed to squeak home.”
Wilmore laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder
and led the way towards two easy-chairs in the
lounge.
“I tell you what it is, old chap,” he confided,
“ you'll be making yourself unpopular before long.
Another criminal at large, thanks to that glib tongue
the
Imore squeak


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
and subtle brain of yours. The crooks of London
will present you with a testimonial when you're made
a judge.”
“So you think that Oliver Hilditch was guilty,
then?” Francis asked curiously.
“My dear fellow, how do I know or care?” was
the indifferent reply. “I shouldn't have thought
that there had been any doubt about it. You prob-
ably know, anyway."
“ That's just what I didn't when I got up to make
my speech,” Francis assured his friend emphatically.
“ The fellow was given an opportunity of making a
clean breast of it, of course — Wensley, his lawyer,
advised him to, in fact - but the story he told me
was precisely the story he told at the inquest.”
They were established now in their easy-chairs,
and Wilmore summoned a waiter.
“ Two large whiskies and sodas," he ordered.
“ Francis,” he went on, studying his companion in-
tently, “what's the matter with you? You don't
look as though your few days in the country last
week had done you any good.”
Francis glanced around as though to be sure that
they were alone.
“I was all right when I came up, Andrew,” he
muttered." This case has upset me."
“Upset you? But why the dickens should it?"
the other demanded, in a puzzled tone. “ It was
quite an ordinary case, in its way, and you won it."
“I won it,” Francis admitted.
“ Your defence was the most ingenious thing I
ever heard.”
“ Mostly suggested, now I come to think of it,"


10
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
the barrister remarked grimly, “ by the prisoner him-
self.”
“But why are you upset about it, anyway? " Wil-
more persisted.
Francis rose to his feet, shook himself, and with
his elbow resting upon the mantelpiece leaned down
towards his friend. He could not rid himself alto-
gether of this sense of unreality. He had the feel-
ing that he had passed through one of the great
crises of his life.
“I'll tell you, Andrew. You're about the only
man in the world I could tell. I've gone crazy.”
“I thought you looked as though you'd been see-
ing spooks," Wilmore murmured sympathetically.
“I have seen a spook," Francis rejoined, with al-
most passionate seriousness, “ a spook who lifted an
invisible curtain with invisible fingers, and pointed to
such a drama of horrors as De Quincey, Poe and
Sue combined could never have imagined. Oliver
Hilditch was guilty, Andrew. He murdered the man
Jordan — murdered him in cold blood.”
“ I'm not surprised to hear that," was the some-
what puzzled reply.
“He was guilty, Andrew, not only of the murder
of this man, his partner, but of innumerable other
crimes and brutalities,” Francis went on. “He is a ben
fiend in human form, if ever there was one, and I lave
have set him loose once more to prey upon Society. Wb
I am morally responsible for his next robbery, his
next murder, the continued purgatory of those
forced to associate with him.”
“ You're dotty, Francis,” his friend declared
shortly.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
11
WI
“ I told you I was 'crazy," was the desperate reply.
“ So would you be if you'd sat opposite that woman
for half-an-hour, and heard her story.”
«? What woman? " Wilmore demanded, leaning for-
ward in his chair and gazing at his friend with in-
creasing uneasiness.
“A woman who met me outside the Court and told
me the story of Oliver Hilditch's life.”
“A stranger?"
“A complete stranger to me. It transpired that
she was his wife.”
Wilmore lit a cigarette.
“ Believe her?"
“ There are times when one doesn't believe or dis--
believe,” Francis answered. “ One knows.”
Wilmore nodded.
“ All the same, you're crazy,” he declared. “Even
if you did save the fellow from the gallows, you were
only doing your job, doing your duty to the best of
your ability. You had no reason to believe him
guilty.”
“ That's just as it happened,” Francis pointed
out. “I really didn't care at the time whether he:
was or not. I had to proceed on the assumption that
he was not, of course, but on the other hand I should
have fought just as hard for him if I had known him
to be guilty.”
“ And you wouldn't now — to-morrow, say?"
“ Never again.”
“ Because of that woman's story?"
“ Because of the woman.”
There was a short silence. Then Wilmore asked
a very obvious question.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
13
He was full of sympathy and understanding. His
one desire at that moment was not to make a mistake.
He decided to leave unasked the obvious question.
“I know,” he said simply. “ Are you dining any-
where?”
“I thought of staying on here,” was the indif-
ferent reply.
“We won't do anything of the sort,” Wilmore in-
sisted. “ There's scarcely a soul in to-night, and the
place is too humpy for a man who's been seeing
spooks. Get back to your rooms and change. I'll
wait here.”
“What about you?”
“I have some clothes in my locker. Don't be
long. And, by-the-bye, which shall it be — Bohemia
or Mayfair? I'll telephone for a table. London's
so infernally full, these days."
Francis hesitated.
“ I really don't care," he confessed. "Now I think
of it, I shall be glad to get away from here, though.
I don't want any more congratulations on saving
Oliver Hilditch's life. Let's go where we are least
likely to meet any one we know."
“ Respectability and a starched shirt-front, then,"
Wilmore decided. “We'll go to Claridge’s.”


CHAPTER III
The two men occupied a table set against the wall,
not far from the entrance to the restaurant, and
throughout the progress of the earlier part of their
meal were able to watch the constant incoming stream
of their fellow-guests. They were, in their way, an
interesting contrast physically, neither of them good-
looking according to ordinary standards, but both
with many pleasant characteristics. Andrew Wil-
more, slight and dark, with sallow cheeks and brown
eyes, looked very much what he was — a moderately
successful journalist and writer of stories, a keen
golfer, a bachelor who preferred a pipe to cigars,
and lived at Richmond because he could not find a
flat in London which he could afford, large enough
for his somewhat expansive habits. Francis Led-
sam was of a sturdier type, with features perhaps
better known to the world owing to the constant ac-
tivities 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. He came of a family of landed pro-
prietors, whose younger sons for generations had
drifted always either to the Bar or the Law, and
his name was well known in the purlieus of Lincoln's
Inn before he himself had made it famous. He was


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
15
a persistent refuser of invitations, and his acquaint-
ances in the fashionable world were comparatively
few. Yet every now and then he felt a mild interest
in the people whom his companion assiduously
pointed out to him.
“A fashionable restaurant, Francis, is rather like
your Law Courts — it levels people up,” the latter
remarked. “ Louis, the head-waiter, is the judge,
and the position allotted in the room is the sentence.
I wonder who is going to have the little table next
but one to us. Some favoured person, evidently."
Francis glanced in the direction indicated without
curiosity. The table in question was laid for two and
was distinguished by a wonderful cluster of red roses.
“Why is it," the novelist continued speculatively,
“ that, whenever we take another man's wife out, we
think it necessary to order red roses ? "
“And why is it,” Francis queried, a little grimly,
" that a dear fellow like you, Andrew, believes it his
duty to talk of trifles for his pal's sake, when all the
time he is thinking of something else? I know you're
dying to talk about the Hilditch case, aren't you?
Well, go ahead.”
“ I'm only interested in this last development,”
Wilmore confessed. “Of course, I read the news-
paper reports. To tell you the truth, for a murder
trial it seemed to me to rather lack colour.”
“ It was a very simple and straightforward case,”
Francis said slowly. “Oliver Hilditch is the prin-
cipal partner in an American financial company
which has recently opened offices in the West End.
He seems to have arrived in England about two
years ago, to have taken a house in Hill Street, and


16
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
to have spent a great deal of money. A month or
so ago, his partner from New York arrived in Lon-
don, a man named Jordan of whom nothing was
known. It has since transpired, however, that his
journey to Europe was undertaken because he was
unable to obtain certain figures relating to the busi-
ness, from Hilditch. Oliver Hilditch met him at
Southampton, travelled with him to London and
found him a room at the Savoy. The next day, the
whole of the time seems to have been spent in the
office, and it is certain, from the evidence of the
clerk, that some disagreement took place between the
two men. They dined together, however, apparently
on good terms, at the Café Royal, and parted in
Regent Street soon after ten. At twelve o'clock,
Jordan's body was picked up on the pavement in
Hill Street, within a few paces of Hilditch's door.
He had been stabbed through the heart with some
needle-like weapon, and was quite dead.”
“Was there any vital cause of quarrel between
them? " Wilmore enquired.
“ Impossible to say,” Francis replied. “The
financial position of the company depends entirely
upon the value of a large quantity of speculative
bonds, but as there was only one clerk employed, it
was impossible to get at any figures. Hilditch de-
clared that Jordan had only a small share in the
business, from which he had drawn a considerable
income for years, and that he had not the slightest
cause for complaint.”
“What were Hilditch's movements that evening? "
Wilmore asked.
“Not a soul seems to have seen him after he left


CHAPTER IV
To reach their table, the one concerning which
Francis and his friend had been speculating, the new
arrivals, piloted by Louis, had to pass within a few
feet of the two men. The woman, serene, coldly
beautiful, dressed like a Frenchwoman in unrelieved
black, with extraordinary attention to details, passed
them by with a careless glance and subsided into the
chair which Louis was holding. Her companion,
however, as he recognised Francis hesitated. His
expression of somewhat austere gloom was lightened.
A pleasant but tentative smile parted his lips. He
ventured upon a salutation, half a nod, half a more
formal bow, a salutation which Francis instinctively
returned. Andrew Wilmore looked on with curiosity.
“ So that is Oliver Hilditch,” he murmured.
“ That is the man,” Francis observed, “ of whom
last evening half the people in this restaurant were
probably asking themselves whether or not he was
guilty of murder. To-night they will be wondering
what he is going to order for dinner. It is a strange
world.”
“ Strange indeed,” Wilmore assented. “This
afternoon he was in the dock, with his fate in the
balance — the condemned cell or a favoured table
at Claridge's. And your meeting! One can imagine
him gripping your hands, with tears in his eyes, his
voice broken with emotion, sobbing out his thanks.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 19
And instead you exchange polite bows. I would not
have missed this situation for anything.”
“ Tradesman!” Francis scoffed. “ One can guess
already at the plot of your next novel.”
“He has courage,” Wilmore declared. “ He has
also a very beautiful companion. Were you serious,
Francis, when you told me that that was his wife?”
“She herself was my informant,” was the quiet
reply.
Wilmore was puzzled.
“But she passed you just now without even a
glance of recognition, and I thought you told me at
the club this afternoon that all your knowledge of
his evil ways came from her. Besides, she looks at
least twenty years younger than he does.”
Francis, who had been watching his glass filled
with champagne, raised it to his lips and drank its
contents steadily to the last drop.
“I can only tell you what I know, Andrew," he
said, as he set down the empty glass. “The woman
who is with him now is the woman who spoke to me
outside the Old Bailey this afternoon. We went to
a tea-shop together. She told me the story of his
career. I have never listened to so horrible a recital
in my life.”
“And yet they are here together, dining tête-à-
tête, on a night when it must have needed more than
ordinary courage for either of them to have been
seen in public at all,” Wilmore pointed out.
“ It is as astounding to me as it is to you,"
Francis confessed. “From the way she spoke, I
should never have dreamed that they were living to-
gether."


20
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
They hit his has his fore
“ And from his appearance," Wilmore remarked,
as he called the waiter to bring some cigarettes, “I
should never have imagined that he was anything else
save a high-principled, well-born, straightforward
sort of chap. I never saw a less criminal type of
face.”
They each in turn glanced at the subject of their
discussion. Oliver Hilditch's good-looks had been
the subject of many press comments during the last
few days. They were certainly undeniable. His face
was a little lined but his hair was thick and brown.
His features were regular, his forehead high and
thoughtful, his mouth a trifle thin but straight and
shapely. Francis gazed at him like a man entranced.
The hours seemed to have slipped away. He was
back in the tea-shop, listening to the woman who
spoke of terrible things. He felt again his shivering
abhorrence of her cold, clearly narrated story.
Again he shrank from the horrors from which with
merciless fingers she had stripped the coverings. He
seemed to see once more the agony in her white face,
to hear the eternal pain aching and throbbing in her
monotonous tone. He rose suddenly to his feet.
“ Andrew,” he begged, “ tell the fellow to bring
the bill outside. We'll have our coffee and liqueurs
there."
Wilmore acquiesced willingly enough, but even as
they turned towards the door Francis realised what
was in store for him. Oliver Hilditch had risen to
his feet. With a courteous little gesture he inter-
cepted the passer-by. Francis found himself stand-
ing side by side with the man for whose life he had
pleaded that afternoon, within a few feet of the


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
21
woman whose terrible story seemed to have poisoned
the very atmosphere he breathed, to have shown him
a new horror in life, to have temporarily, at any rate,
undermined every joy and ambition he possessed.
“Mr. Ledsam,” Hilditch said, speaking with quiet
dignity, “I hope that you will forgive the liberty
I take in speaking to you here. I looked for you the
moment I was free this afternoon, but found that you
had left the Court. I owe you my good name, prob-
ably my life. Thanks are poor things but they must
be spoken."
“ You owe me nothing at all,” Francis replied, in
a tone which even he found harsh. “I had a brief
before me and a cause to plead. It was a chapter
out of my daily work.”
“That work can be well done or ill,” the other
reminded him gently. “In your case, my presence
here proves how well it was done. I wish to present
you to my wife, who shares my gratitude.”
Francis bowed to the woman, who now, at her
husband's words, raised her eyes. For the first time
he saw her smile. It seemed to him that the effort
made her less beautiful.
“ Your pleading was very wonderful, Mr. Led-
sam,” she said, a very subtle note of mockery faintly
apparent in her tone. “We poor mortals find it
difficult to understand that with you all that show
of passionate earnestness is merely — what did you
call it? — a chapter in your day's work? It is a
great gift to be able to argue from the brain and
plead as though from the heart.”
“ We will not detain Mr. Ledsam,” Oliver Hilditch
interposed, a little hastily. “He perhaps does not


22 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
care to be addressed in public by a client who still
carries with him the atmosphere of the prison. My
wife and I wondered, Mr. Ledsam, whether you would
be good enough to dine with us one night. I think
I could interest you by telling you more about my
case than you know at present, and it would give us
a further opportunity, and a more seemly one, for ex-
pressing our gratitude.”
Francis had recovered himself by this time. He
was after all a man of parts, and though he still
had the feeling that he had been through one of the
most momentous days of his life, his savoir faire was
making its inevitable reappearance. He knew very
well that the idea of that dinner would be horrible
to him. He also knew that he would willingly cancel
every engagement he had rather than miss it.
“ You are very kind,” he murmured.
“ Are we fortunate enough to find you disen-
gaged,” Hilditch suggested, “ to-morrow evening?"
“I am quite free," was the ready response.
“ That suits you, Margaret?" Hilditch asked,
turning courteously to his wife.
For a single moment her eyes were fixed upon those
of her prospective guest. He read their message
which pleaded for his refusal, and he denied it.
“ To-morrow evening will suit me as well as any
other,” she acquiesced, after a brief pause.
“ At eight o'clock, then - number 10 b, Hill
Street," Hilditch concluded.
Francis bowed and turned away with a murmured
word of polite 'assent. Outside, he found Wilmore
deep in the discussion of the merits of various old
brandies with an interested maître d'hôtel.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
23
“ Any choice, Francis?” his host enquired.
“ None whatever," was the prompt reply, “ only,
for God's sake, give me a double one quickly!”
The two men were on the point of departure when
Oliver Hilditch and his wife left the restaurant. As
though conscious that they had become the subject
of discussion, as indeed was the case, thanks to the
busy whispering of the various waiters, they passed
without lingering through the lounge into the en-
trance hall, where Francis and Andrew Wilmore
were already waiting for a taxicab. Almost as they
appeared, a new arrival was ushered through the
main entrance, followed by porters carrying luggage.
He brushed past Francis so closely that the latter
looked into his face, half attracted and half repelled
by the waxen-like complexion, the piercing eyes, and
the dignified carriage of the man whose arrival
seemed to be creating some stir in the hotel. A re-
ception clerk and a deputy manager had already
hastened forward. The newcomer waved them back
for a moment. Bareheaded, he had taken Margaret
Hilditch's hands in his and raised them to his lips.
“ I came as quickly as I could,” he said. “There
was the usual delay, of course, at Marseilles, and
the trains on were terrible. So all has ended well.”
Oliver Hilditch, standing by, remained speechless.
It seemed for a moment as though his self-control
were subjected to a severe strain.
“I had the good fortune," he interposed, in a low
tone, “to be wonderfully defended. Mr. Ledsam
here — "
He glanced around. Francis, with some idea of


CHAPTER V
INDECISION had never been one of Francis Led-
sam's faults, but four times during the following day
he wrote out a carefully worded telegraphic message
to Mrs. Oliver Hilditch, 10 b, Hill Street, regretting
his inability to dine that night, and each time he
destroyed it. He carried the first message around
Richmond golf course with him, intending to dis-
patch his caddy with it immediately on the conclu-
sion of the round. The fresh air, however, and the
concentration required by the game, seemed to dispel
the nervous apprehensions with which he had an-
ticipated his visit, and over an apéritif in the club
bar he tore the telegram into small pieces and found
himself even able to derive a certain half-fearful
pleasure from the thought of meeting again the
woman who, together with her terrible story, had
never for one moment been out of his thoughts. An-
drew Wilmore, who had observed his action, spoke of
it as they settled down to lunch.
“So you are going to keep your engagement to-
night, Francis?” he observed.
The latter nodded.
“ After all, why not?” he asked, a little defiantly.
“ It ought to be interesting.”
“ Well, there's nothing of the sordid criminal, at
any rate, about Oliver Hilditch,” Wilmore declared.
“ Neither, if one comes to think of it, does his wife


26
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
appear to be the prototype of suffering virtue. I
wonder if you are wise to go, Francis ? "
6 Why not?” the man who had asked himself that
question a dozen times already, demanded.
“ Because," Wilmore replied coolly, “ underneath
that steely hardness of manner for which your pro-
fession is responsible, you have a vein of sentiment,
of chivalrous sentiment, I should say, which some
day or other is bound to get you into trouble. The
woman is beautiful enough to turn any one's head.
As a matter of fact, I believe that you are more than
half in love with her already."
Francis Ledsam sat where the sunlight fell upon
his strong, forceful face, shone, too, upon the table
with its simple but pleasant appointments, upon the
tankard of beer by his side, upon the plate of roast
beef to which he was already doing ample justice.
He laughed with the easy confidence of a man awak-
ened from some haunting nightmare, relieved to find
his feet once more firm upon the ground.
“I have been a fool to take the whole matter so
seriously, Andrew," he declared. “I expect to walk
back to Clarges Street to-night, disillusioned. The
man will probably present me with a gold pencil-
case, and the woman - "
“Well, what about the woman?” Wilmore asked,
after a brief pause.
« Oh, I don't know!” Francis declared, a little
impatiently. “ The woman is the mystery, of course.
Probably my brain was a little over-excited when I
came out of Court, and what I imagined to be an
epic was nothing more than a tissue of exaggerations
from a disappointed wife. However, I'm sure I'm


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
27
doing the right thing to go there.... What
about a four-ball this afternoon, Andrew?”
The four-ball match was played and won in normal
fashion. The two men returned to town together
afterwards, Wilmore to the club and Francis to his
rooms in Clarges Street to prepare for dinner. At a
few minutes to eight he rang the bell of number 10 b,
Hill Street, and found his host and hostess awaiting
him in the small drawing-room into which he was
ushered. It seemed to him that the woman, still
colourless, again marvellously gowned, greeted him
coldly. His host, however, was almost too effusive.
There was no other guest, but the prompt announce-
ment of dinner dispelled what might have been a few
moments of embarrassment after Oliver Hilditch's al-
most too cordial greeting. The woman laid her
fingers upon her guest's coat-sleeve. The trio
crossed the little hall almost in silence.
Dinner was served in a small white Georgian din-
ing-room, with every appurtenance of almost Syba-
ritic luxury. The only light in the room was thrown
upon the table by two purple-shaded electric lamps,
and the servants who waited seemed to pass back-
wards and forwards like shadows in some mysterious
twilight — even the faces of the three diners them-
selves were out of the little pool of light until they
leaned forward. The dinner was chosen with taste
and restraint, the wines were not only costly but
rare. A watchful butler, attended now and then by
a trim parlour-maid, superintended the service. Only
once, when she ordered a bowl of flowers removed
from the table, did their mistress address either of
them. Conversation after the first few amenities


28
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
speedily became almost a monologue. One man
talked whilst the others listened, and the man who
talked was Oliver Hilditch. He possessed the rare
gift of imparting colour and actuality in a few
phrases to the strange places of which he spoke, of
bringing the very thrill of strange happenings into
the shadowy room. It seemed that there was
scarcely a country of the world which he had not
visited, a country, that is to say, where men con-
gregate, for he admitted from the first that he was a
city worshipper, that the empty places possessed no
charm for him.
“I am not even a sportsman,” he confessed once,
half apologetically, in reply to a question from his
guest. “I have passed down the great rivers of the
world without a thought of salmon, and I have
driven through the forest lands and across the moun-
tains behind a giant locomotive, without a thought
of the beasts which might be lurking there, waiting
to be killed. My only desire has been to reach the
next place where men and women were.”
“ Irrespective of nationality? ” Francis queried.
“ Absolutely. I have never minded much of what
race — I have the trick of tongues rather strangely
developed — but I like the feeling of human beings
around me. I like the smell and sound and atmos-
phere of a great city. Then all my senses are awake,
but life becomes almost turgid in my veins during the
dreary hours of passing from one place to another."
“Do you rule out scenery as well as sport from
amongst the joys of travel ? " Francis enquired.
“I am ashamed to make such a confession,” his
host answered, “but I have never lingered for a single


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
29
unnecessary moment to look at the most wonderful
landscape in the world. On the other hand, I have
lounged for hours in the narrowest streets of Pekin,
in the markets of Shanghai, along Broadway in New
York, on the boulevards in Paris, outside the Audi-
torium in Chicago. These are the obvious places
where humanity presses the thickest, but I know of
others. Some day we will talk of them.”
Francis, too, although that evening, through sheer
lack of sympathy, he refused to admit it, shared to
some extent Hilditch's passionate interest in his fel-
low-creatures, and notwithstanding the strange con-
fusion of thought into which he had been thrown
during the last twenty-four hours, he felt something
of the pungency of life, the thrill of new and appeal-
ing surroundings, as he sat in his high-backed chair,
sipping his wonderful wine, eating almost mechan-
ically what was set before him, fascinated through
all his being by his strange company.
For three days he had cast occasional glances at
this man, seated in the criminal dock with a gaoler
on either side of him, his fine, nervous features gain-
ing an added distinction from the sordidness of his
surroundings. Now, in the garb of civilisation,
seated amidst luxury to which he was obviously ac-
customed, with a becoming light upon his face and
this strange, fascinating flow of words proceeding
always from his lips, the man, from every external
point of view, seemed amongst the chosen ones of the
world. The contrast was in itself amazing. And
then the woman! Francis looked at her but seldom,
and when he did it was with a curious sense of mental
disturbance, poignant but unanalysable.


30
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
It was amazing to see her here, opposite the man
of whom she had told him that ghastly story, mis-
tress of his house, to all appearance his consort, ap-
parently engrossed in his polished conversation, yet
with that subtle withholding of her real self which
Francis rather imagined than felt, and which some-
how seemed to imply her fierce resentment of her
husband's re-entry into the arena of life. It was a
situation so strange that Francis, becoming more
and more subject to its influence, was inclined to
wonder whether he had not met with some accident
on his way from the Court, and whether this was
not one of the heated nightmares following uncon-
sciousness.
“ Tell me,” he asked his host, during one of the
brief pauses in the conversation," have you ever tried
to analyse this interest of yours in human beings
and crowded cities, this hatred of solitude and empty
spaces ? "
Oliver Hilditch smiled thoughtfully, and gazed at
a salted almond which he was just balancing between
the tips of his fingers.
“I think,” he said simply, “it is because I have
no soul.”


CHAPTER VI
THE three diners lingered for only a short time
over their dessert. Afterwards, they passed together
into a very delightful library on the other side of
the round, stone-paved hall. Hilditch excused him-
self for a moment.
“I have some cigars which I keep in my dressing-
room,” he explained, “ and which I am anxious for
you to try. There is an electric stove there and I
can regulate the temperature.”
He departed, closing the door behind him.
Francis came a little further into the room. His
hostess, who had subsided into an easy-chair and was
holding a screen between her face and the fire, mo-
tioned him to seat himself opposite. He did so with-
out words. He felt curiously and ridiculously
tongue-tied. He fell to studying the woman instead
of attempting the banality of pointless speech.
From the smooth gloss of her burnished hair, to the
daintiness of her low, black brocaded shoes, she rep-
resented, so far as her physical and outward self
were concerned, absolute perfection. No ornament
was amiss, no line or curve of her figure other than
perfectly graceful. Yet even the fire's glow which
she had seemed to dread brought no flush of colour
to her cheeks. Her appearance of complete lifeless-
ness remained. It was as though some sort of crust
had formed about her being, a condition which her


32
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
very physical perfection seemed to render the more
incomprehensible.
“You are surprised to see me here living with my
husband, after what I told you yesterday after-
noon? ” she said calmly, breaking at last the silence
which had reigned between them.
“I am,” he admitted.
“ It seems unnatural to you, I suppose ? "
“ Entirely."
“ You still believe all that I told you? "
“ I must."
She looked at the door and raised her head a little,
as though either listening or adjudging the time be-
fore her husband would return. Then she glanced
across at him once more.
“Hatred,” she said, “ does not always drive away.
Sometimes it attracts. Sometimes the person who
hates can scarcely bear the other out of his sight.
That is where hate and love are somewhat alike.”
The room was warm but Francis was conscious of
shivering. She raised her finger warningly. It
seemed typical of the woman, somehow, that the
message could not be conveyed by any glance or
gesture.
“ He is coming,” she whispered.
Oliver Hilditch reappeared, carrying cigars
wrapped in gold foil which he had brought with him
from Cuba, the tobacco of which was a revelation to
his guest. The two men smoked and sipped their
coffee and brandy. The woman sat with half-closed
eyes. It was obvious that Hilditch was still in the
mood for speech.
“ I will tell you, Mr. Ledsam,” he said, “why I am


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
33
so happy to have you here this evening. In the first
place, I desire to tender you once more my thanks
for your very brilliant efforts on my behalf. The
very fact that I am able to offer you hospitality at
all is without a doubt due to these.”
“I only did what I was paid to do,” Francis in-
sisted, a little harshly. “You must remember that
these things come in the day's work with us.”
His host nodded.
“Naturally,” he murmured." There was another
reason, too, why I was anxious to meet you, Mr.
Ledsam,” he continued. “You have gathered al-
ready that I am something of a crank. I have a
profound detestation of all sentimentality and af-
fected morals. It is a relief to me to come into con-
tact with a man who is free from that bourgeois in-
cubus to modern enterprise — a conscience.”
“ Is that your estimate of me? ” Francis asked.
“Why not? You practise your profession in the
criminal courts, do you not ? "
“ That is well-known,” was the brief reply.
“ What measure of conscience can a man have,”
Oliver Hilditch argued blandly, “ who pleads for the
innocent and guilty alike with the same simulated
fervour? Confess, now, Mr. Ledsam — there is no
object in being hypocritical in this matter – have
you not often pleaded for the guilty as though you
believed them innocent ? "
“ That has sometimes been my duty,” Francis ac-
knowledged.
Hilditch laughed scornfully.
“ It is all part of the great hypocrisy of society,"
he proclaimed. “You have an extra glass of cham-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
35
“I do not wish to hear this !” he exclaimed
harshly.
“Don't be foolish,” his host replied, rising to his
feet and strolling across the room. “You know the
whole trouble of the prosecution. They couldn't dis-
cover the weapon, or anything like it, with which the
deed was done. Now I'll show you something in-
genious.”
Francis followed the other's movements with fasci-
nated eyes. The woman scarcely turned her head.
Hilditch paused at the further end of the room, where
there were a couple of gun cases, some fishing rods
and a bag of golf clubs. From the latter he ex-
tracted a very ordinary-looking putter, and with it in
his hands strolled back to them.
“Do you play golf, Ledsam?” he asked. “What
do you think of that?”.
Francis took the putter into his hand. It was a
very ordinary club, which had apparently seen a
good deal of service, so much, indeed, that the leather
wrapping at the top was commencing to unroll. The
maker's name was on the back of the blade, also the
name of the professional from whom it had been pur-
chased. Francis swung the implement mechanically
with his wrists.
“ There seems to be nothing extraordinary about
the club,” he pronounced. “It is very much like a
cleek I putt with myself.”
“ Yet it contains a secret which would most cer-
tainly have hanged me,” Oliver Hilditch declared
pleasantly. “ See!”
He held the shaft firmly in one hand and bent the
blade away from it. In a moment or two it yielded


36
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
and he commenced to unscrew it. A little exclama-
tion escaped from Francis' lips. The woman looked
on with tired eyes.
“ The join in the steel,” Hilditch pointed out, “ is
so fine as to be undistinguishable by the naked eye.
Yet when the blade comes off, like this, you see that
although the weight is absolutely adjusted, the inside
is hollow. The dagger itself is encased in this cotton
wool to avoid any rattling. I put it away in rather
a hurry the last time I used it, and as you see I for-
got to clean it."
Francis staggered back and gripped at the mantel-
piece. His eyes were filled with horror. Very
slowly, and with the air of one engaged upon some
interesting task, Oliver Hilditch had removed the
blood-stained sheath of cotton wool from around the
thin blade of a marvellous-looking stiletto, on which
was also a long stain of encrusted blood.
“ There is a handle,” he went on, " which is per-
haps the most ingenious thing of all. You touch a
spring here, and behold!”
He pressed down two tiny supports which opened
upon hinges about four inches from the top of the
handle. There was now a complete hilt.
“ With this little weapon," he explained, "the
point is so sharpened and the steel so wonderful that
it is not necessary to stab. It has the perfection of
a surgical instrument. You have only to lean it
against a certain point in a man's anatomy, lunge
ever so little and the whole thing is done. Come here,
Mr. Ledsam, and I will show you the exact spot."
Francis made no movement. His eyes were fixed
upon the weapon.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ If I had only known ! ” he muttered.
“My dear fellow, if you had,” the other protested
soothingly, “ you know perfectly well that it would
not have made the slightest difference. Perhaps that
little break in your voice would not have come quite
so naturally, the little sweep of your arm towards me,
the man whom a moment's thoughtlessness might
sweep into Eternity, would have been a little stiffer,
but what matter? You would still have done your
best and you would probably still have succeeded.
You don't care about trifling with Eternity, eh?
Very well, I will find the place for you.” .
Hilditch's fingers strayed along his shirt-front un-
til he found a certain spot. Then he leaned the dagger
against it, his forefinger and second finger pressed
against the hilt. His eyes were fixed upon his guest's.
He seemed genuinely interested. Francis, glancing
away for a moment, was suddenly conscious of a new
horror. The woman had leaned a little forward in
her easy-chair until she had attained almost a crouch-
ing position. Her eyes seemed to be measuring the
distance from where she sat to that quivering thread
of steel.
“ You see, Ledsam,” his host went on," that point
driven now at that angle would go clean through the
vital part of my heart. And it needs no force, either
— just the slow pressure of these two fingers. What
did you say, Margaret?” he enquired, breaking off
abruptly.
The woman was seated upon the very edge of
her chair, her eyes rivetted upon the dagger. There
was no change in her face, not a tremor in her
tone.


38
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
rd putt right than would be a flick of
“I said nothing,” she replied. “I did not speak
at all. I was just watching."
Hilditch turned back to his guest.
“ These two fingers,” he repeated, “ and a flick of
the wrist — very little more than would be necessary
for a thirty yard putt right across the green.”
Francis had recovered himself, had found his bear-
ings to a certain extent.
“I am sorry that you have told me this, Mr. Hil-
ditch,” he said, a little stiffly.
“ Why?” was the puzzled reply. “I thought you
would be interested.”
“ I am interested to this extent,” Francis declared,
“ I shall accept no more cases such as yours unless I
am convinced of my client's innocence. I look upon
your confession to me as being in the worst possible
taste, and I regret very much my efforts on your be-
half.”
The woman was listening intently. Hilditch's ex-
pression was one of cynical wonder. Francis rose to
his feet and moved across to his hostess.
“Mrs. Hilditch,” he said, “ will you allow me to
make my apologies? Your husband and I have ar-
rived at an understanding — or perhaps I should
say a misunderstanding — which renders the accept-
ance of any further hospitality on my part impossi-
ble.”
She held out the tips of her fingers.
“ I had no idea,” she observed, with gentle sarcasm,
" that you barristers were such purists morally. I
thought you were rather proud of being the last hope
of the criminal classes."
“Madam,” Francis replied, “ I am not proud of


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
39
having saved the life of a self-confessed murderer,
even though that man may be your husband.”
Hilditch was laughing softly to himself as he es-
corted his departing guest to the door.
“You have a quaint sense of humour,” Francis re-
marked.
“Forgive me,” Oliver Hilditch begged, “ but your
last few words rather appealed to me. You must be
a person of very scanty perceptions if you could
spend the evening here and not understand that my
death is the one thing in the world which would make
my wife happy."
Francis walked home with these last words ringing
in his ears. They seemed with him even in that brief
period of troubled sleep which came to him when he
had regained his rooms and turned in. They were
there in the middle of the night when he was awak-
ened, shivering, by the shrill summons of his telephone
bell. He stood quaking before the instrument in his
pajamas. It was the voice which, by reason of some
ghastly premonition, he had dreaded to hear - level,
composed, emotionless.
“Mr. Ledsam?” she enquired.
“I am Francis Ledsam,” he assented. “Who
wants me?”
“ It is Margaret Hilditch speaking,” she an-
nounced. “I felt that I must ring up and tell you of
a very strange thing which happened after you left
this evening.”
“Go on,” he begged hoarsely.
“ After you left," she went on, “my husband per-
sisted in playing with that curious dagger. He laid
it against his heart, and seated himself in the chair


40 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
which Mr. Jordan had occupied, in the same attitude.
It was what he called a reconstruction. While he
was holding it there, I think that he must have had a
fit, or it may have been remorse, we shall never know.
He called out and I hurried across the room to him.
I tried to snatch the dagger away — I did so, in fact
— but I must have been too late. He had already
applied that slight movement of the fingers which was
necessary. The doctor has just left. He says that
death must have been instantaneous.”
“But this is horrible!” Francis cried out into the
well of darkness.
“A person is on the way from Scotland Yard,” the
voice continued, without change or tremor. “When
he has satisfied himself, I am going to bed. He is
here now. Good-night!”
Francis tried to speak again but his words beat
against a wall of silence. He sat upon the edge of
the bed, shivering. In that moment of agony he
seemed to hear again the echo of Oliver Hilditch's
mocking words:
“My death is the one thing in the world which
would make my wife happy!”


CHAPTER VII
THERE was a good deal of speculation at the
Sheridan Club, of which he was a popular and much
envied member, as to the cause for the complete dis-
appearance from their midst of Francis Ledsam since
the culmination of the Hilditch tragedy.
“ Sent back four topping briefs, to my knowledge,
last week,” one of the legal luminaries of the place
announced to a little group of friends and fellow-
members over a before-dinner cocktail.
“Griggs offered him the defence of William Bull,
the Chippenham murderer, and he refused it," an-
other remarked. “Griggs wrote him personally, and
the reply came from the Brancaster Golf Club! It
isn't like Ledsam to be taking golfing holidays in
the middle of the session.”
“There's nothing wrong with Ledsam,” declared a
gruff voice from the corner. “And don't gossip, you
fellows, at the top of your voices like a lot of old
women. He'll be calling here for me in a moment or
two."
They all looked around. Andrew Wilmore rose
slowly to his feet and emerged from behind the sheets
of an evening paper. He laid his hand upon the
shoulder of a friend, and glanced towards the door.
“ Ledsam's had a touch of nerves,” he confided.
“ There's been nothing else the matter with him.
We've been down at the Dormy House at Brancaster


42
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
and he's as right as a trivet now. That Hilditch
affair did him in completely.”
“I don't see why,” one of the bystanders observed.
“ He got Hilditch off all right. One of the finest
addresses to a jury I ever heard.”
“That's just the point,” Wilmore explained.
“ You see, Ledsam had no idea that Hilditch was
really guilty, and for two hours that afternoon he
literally fought for his life, and in the end wrested a
verdict from the jury, against the judge's summing
up, by sheer magnetism or eloquence or whatever you
fellows like to call it. The very night after, Hilditch
confesses his guilt and commits suicide.”
“ I still don't see where Ledsam's worry comes in,"
the legal luminary remarked. “The fact that the
man was guilty is rather a feather in the cap of his
counsel. Shows how jolly good his pleading must
have been.”
“ Just so," Wilmore agreed, “ but Ledsam, as you
know, is a very conscientious sort of fellow, and very
sensitive, too. The whole thing was a shock to him.”
“ It must have been a queer experience,” a novelist
remarked from the outskirts of the group, “ to dine
with a man whose life you have juggled away from
the law, and then have him explain his crime to you,
and the exact manner of its accomplishment. Seems
to bring one amongst the goats, somehow.”
“ Bit of a shock, no doubt,” the lawyer assented,
5 but I still don't understand Ledsam's sending back
all his briefs. He's not going to chuck the profes-
sion, is he?”
“ Not by any means,” Wilmore declared. “I
think he has an idea, though, that he doesn't want to


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
43
accept any briefs unless he is convinced that the per-
son whom he has to represent is innocent, and lawyers
don't like that sort of thing, you know. You can't
pick and choose, even when you have Ledsam's
gifts.”
“The fact of it is,”, the novelist commented,
“ Francis Ledsam isn't callous enough to be associ-
ated with you money-grubbing dispensers of the law.
He'd be all right as Public Prosecutor, a sort of Sir
Galahad waving the banner of virtue, but he hates to
stuff his pockets at the expense of the criminal
classes."
“Who the mischief are the criminal classes ? ” a
police court magistrate demanded. “ Personally, I
call war profiteering criminal, I call a good many
Stock Exchange deals criminal, and,” he added,
turning to a member of the committee who was hover-
ing in the background, “I call it criminal to expect
us to drink French vermouth like this.”
“ There is another point of view,” the latter re-
torted. “I call it a crime to expect a body of intelli-
gent 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 Wil-
more.
“Mr. Ledsam is outside in a taxi, sir,” he an-
nounced.
“ Outside in a taxi? ” the lawyer repeated. “Why
on earth can't he come in?”
“I never heard such rot,” another declared.
“ Let's go and rope him in.”
“ Mr. Ledsam desired me to say, sir," the hall-


44
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
porter continued, “ to any of his friends who might
be here, that he will be in to lunch to-morrow.”
“Leave him to me till then,” Wilmore begged.
“ He'll be all right directly. He's simply altering
his bearings and taking his time about it. If he's
promised to lunch here to-morrow, he will. He's as
near as possible through the wood. Coming up in
the train, he suggested a little conversation to-night
and afterwards the normal life. He means it, too.
There's nothing neurotic about Ledsam."
The magistrate nodded.
“Run along, then, my merry Andrew," he said,
“ but see that Ledsam keeps his word about to-mor-
row."
Andrew Wilmore plunged boldly into the forbidden
subject later on that evening, as the two men sat side
by side at one of the wall tables in Soto's famous club
restaurant. They had consumed an excellent dinner.
An empty champagne bottle had just been removed,
double liqueur brandies had taken its place. Francis,
with an air of complete and even exuberant humanity,
had lit a huge cigar. The moment seemed propi-
tious.
“ Francis,” his friend began," they say at the club
that you refused to be briefed in the Chippenham
affair."
“Quite true," was the calm reply. “I told Griggs
that I wouldn't have anything to do with it.”
Wilmore knew then that all was well. Francis' old
air of strength and decision had returned. His voice
was firm, his eyes were clear and bright. His man-
ner seemed even to invite questioning.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
45
“Î think I know why,” Wilmore said, “but I
should like you to tell me in your own words.”
Francis glanced around as though to be sure that
they were not overheard.
“ Because," he replied, dropping his voice a little
but still speaking with great distinctness, “ William
Bull is a cunning and dangerous criminal whom I
should prefer to see hanged.”
“ You know that?”
“I know that."
“ It would be a great achievement to get him off,"
Wilmore persisted. “The evidence is very weak in
places.”
“I believe that I could get him off," was the con-
fident reply. “ That is why I will not touch the
brief. I think,” Francis continued, “ that I have al-
ready conveyed it to you indirectly, but here you are
in plain words, Andrew. I have made up my mind
that I will defend no man in future unless I am con-
vinced of his innocence.”
“ That means — "
“ It means practically the end of my career at the
bar," Francis admitted. “I realise that absolutely.
Fortunately, as you know, I am not dependent upon
my earnings, and I have had a wonderful ten years."
“ This is all because of the Hilditch affair, I sup-
pose?”
“ Entirely."
Wilmore was still a little puzzled.
“ You seem to imagine that you have something
on your conscience as regards that business,” he said
boldly.
“I have,” was the calm reply.


46 THE EVIL SHEPHERD.
“Come,” Wilmore protested, “I don't quite follow
your line of thought. Granted that Hilditch was a
desperate criminal whom by the exercise of your
special gifts you saved from the law, surely his tragic
death balanced the account between you and So-
ciety?"
“ It might have done,” Francis admitted, “ if he
had really committed suicide."
Wilmore was genuinely startled. He looked at his
companion curiously..
“ What the devil do you mean, old chap? ” he de-
manded. “ Your own evidence at the inquest was
practically conclusive as to that.”
Francis glanced around him with apparent indif-
ference but in reality with keen and stealthy care.
On their right was a glass division, through which
the sound of their voices could not possibly penetrate.
On their left was an empty space, and a table beyond
was occupied by a well-known cinema magnate en-
gaged in testing the attractions in daily life of a
would-be film star. Nevertheless, Francis' voice was
scarcely raised above a whisper.
“My evidence at the coroner's inquest,” he con-
fided, “ was a subtly concocted tissue of lies. I com-
mitted perjury freely. That is the real reason why
I've been a little on the nervy side lately, and why I
took these few months out of harness.”
“Good God!” Wilmore exclaimed, setting down
untasted the glass of brandy which he had just
raised to his lips.
“I want to finish this matter up,” Francis con-
tinued calmly, “ by making a clean breast of it to
you, because from to-night I am starting afresh, with


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
47
new interests in my life, what will practically amount
to a new career. That is why I preferred not to dine
at the club to-night, although I am looking forward
to seeing them all again. I wanted instead to have
this conversation with you. I lied at the inquest
when I said that the relations between Oliver Hilditch
and his wife that night seemed perfectly normal. I
lied when I said that I knew of no cause for ill-will
between them. I lied when I said that I left them on
friendly terms. I lied when I said that Oliver Hil-
ditch seemed depressed and nervous. I lied when I
said that he expressed the deepest remorse for what
he had done. There was every indication that night
of the hate which I happen to know existed between
the woman and the man. I have not the faintest
doubt in my mind but that she murdered him. In
my judgment, she was perfectly justified in doing
so.”
There followed a brief but enforced silence as some
late arrivals passed their table. The room was well-
ventilated but Andrew Wilmore felt suddenly hot and
choking. A woman, one of the little group of new-
comers, glanced towards Francis curiously.
“ Francis Ledsam, the criminal barrister," her
companion whispered, -- " the man who got Oliver
Hilditch off. The man with him is Andrew Wilmore,
the novelist. Discussing a case, I expect.”


CHAPTER VIII
THE little party of late diners passed on their way
to the further end of the room, leaving a wave of
artificiality behind, or was it, Andrew Wilmore won-
dered, in a moment of half-dazed speculation, that it
was they and the rest of the gay company who rep-
resented the real things, and he and his companion
who were playing a sombre part in some unreal and
gloomier world. Francis' voice, however, when he
recommenced his diatribe, was calm and matter-of-
fact enough.
“You see,” he continued, argumentatively, “ I was
morally and actually responsible for the man's being
brought back into Society. And far worse than
that, I was responsible for his being thrust back
again upon his wife. Ergo, I was also responsible
for what she did that night. The matter seems as
plain as a pikestaff to me. I did what I could to
atone, rightly or wrongly it doesn't matter, because
it is over and done with. There you are, old fellow,
now you know what's been making me nervy. I've
committed wholesale perjury, but I acted according
to my conscience and I think according to justice.
The thing has worried me, I admit, but it has passed,
and I'm glad it's off my chest. One more liqueur,
Andrew, and if you want to we'll talk about my plans
for the future.”
The brandy was brought. Wilmore studied his


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
49
friend curiously, not without some relief. Francis
had lost the harassed and nervous appearance upon
which his club friends had commented, which had
been noticeable, even, to a diminishing extent, upon
the golf course at Brancaster. He was alert and
eager. He had the air of a man upon the threshold
of some enterprise dear to his heart.
“ I have been through a queer experience,” Francis
continued presently, as he sipped his second liqueur.
“Not only had I rather less than twelve hours to
make up my mind whether I should commit a serious
offence against the law, but a sensation which I al-
ways hoped that I might experience, has come to
me in what I suppose I must call most unfortunate
fashion.”
“ The woman? " Wilmore ventured.
Francis assented gloomily. There was a moment's
silence. Wilmore, the metaphysician, saw then a
strange thing. He saw a light steal across his
friend's stern face. He saw his eyes for a moment
soften, the hard mouth relax, something incredible,
transforming, shine, as it were, out of the man's soul
in that moment of self-revelation. It was gone like
the momentary passing of a strange gleam of sun-
shine across a leaden sea, but those few seconds were
sufficient. Wilmore knew well enough what had hap-
pened.
“ Oliver Hilditch's wife,” Francis went on, after
a few minutes' pause," presents an enigma which at
present I cannot hope to solve. The fact that she re-
ceived her husband back again, knowing what he was
and what he was capable of, is inexplicable to me.
The woman herself is a mystery. I do not know what


50
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
lies behind her extraordinary immobility. Feeling
she must have, and courage, or she would never have
dared to have ridded herself of the scourge of her
life. But beyond that my judgment tells me nothing.
I only know that sooner or later I shall seek her out.
I shall discover all that I want to know, one way
or the other. It may be for happiness - it may be
the end of the things that count.”
“I guessed this,” Wilmore admitted, with a little
shiver which he was wholly unable to repress.
Francis nodded.
“ Then keep it to yourself, my dear fellow,” he
begged, “ like everything else I am telling you to-
night. I have come out of my experience changed
in many ways," he continued, “ but, leaving out that
one secret chapter, this is the dominant factor which
looms up before me. I bring into life a new aversion,
almost a passion, Andrew, born in a tea-shop in the
city, and ministered to by all that has happened
since. I have lost that sort of indifference which my
profession engenders towards crime. I am at war
with the criminal, sometimes, I hope, in the Courts
of Justice, but forever out of them. I am no longer
indifferent as to whether men do good or evil so
long as they do not cross my path. I am a hunter
of sin. I am out to destroy. There's a touch of
melodrama in this for you, Andrew,” he concluded,
with a little laugh, “but, my God, I'm in earnest!”
“ What does this mean so far as regards the rou-
tine of your daily life?” Wilmore asked curiously.
“Well, it brings us to the point we discussed down
at Brancaster," Francis replied. “ It will affect my
work to this extent. I shall not accept any brief


52
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
"A laudable, a most exhilarating and delightful
pursuit!'human vermin,' too, is excellent. It opens
up a new and fascinating vista for the modern sports-
man. My congratulations!”
It was an interruption of peculiar and wonderful
significance, but Francis did not for the moment ap-
preciate the fact. Turning his head, he simply saw
a complete stranger seated unaccountably at the
next table, who had butted into a private conversa-
tion and whose tone of gentle sarcasm, therefore, was
the more offensive.
“Who the devil are you, sir," he demanded, “ and
where did you come from? ”
The newcomer showed no resentment at Francis'
little outburst. He simply smiled with deprecating
amiability — a tall, spare man, with lean, hard face,
complexion almost unnaturally white; black hair,
plentifully besprinkled with grey; a thin, cynical
mouth, notwithstanding its distinctly humourous
curve, and keen, almost brilliant dark eyes. He was
dressed in ordinary dinner garb; his linen and
jewellery was indeed in the best possible taste.
Francis, at his second glance, was troubled with a
vague sense of familiarity.
“Let me answer your last question first, sir,” the
intruder begged. “ I was seated alone, several tables
away, when the couple next to you went out, and
having had pointed out to me the other evening at
Claridge's Hotel, and knowing well by repute, the
great barrister, Mr. Francis Ledsam, and his friend
the world-famed novelist, Mr. Andrew Wilmore, I
- er — unobtrusively made my way, half a yard at
a time, in your direction — and here I am. I came


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
53
stealthily, you may object? Without a doubt. If
I had come in any other fashion, I should have dis-
turbed a conversation in which I was much inter-
ested.”
“ Could you find it convenient,” Francis asked,
with icy politeness, “ to return to your own table,
stealthily or not, as you choose?”
The newcomer showed no signs of moving.
“ In after years,” he declared, “ you would be the
first to regret the fact if I did so. This is a mo-
mentous meeting. It gives me an opportunity of ex-
pressing my deep gratitude to you, Mr. Ledsam, for
the wonderful evidence you tendered at the inquest
upon the body of my son-in-law, Oliver Hilditch."
Francis turned in his place and looked steadily at
this unsought-for companion, learning nothing, how-
ever, from the half-mocking smile and imperturbable
expression.
“ Your son-in-law?” he repeated. “Do you mean
to say that you are the father of — of Oliver Hil-
ditch's wife?”
“ Widow," the other corrected gently. “I have
that honour. You will understand, therefore, that
I feel myself on this, the first opportunity, compelled
to tender my sincere thanks for evidence so chival-
rously offered, so flawlessly truthful.”
Francis was a man accustomed to self-control, but
he clenched his hands so that his finger nails dug into
his flesh. He was filled with an insane and unreason-
ing resentment against this man whose words were
biting into his conscience. Nevertheless, he kept his
tone level.
“I do not desire your gratitude,” he said, “nor,


54
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
if you will permit me to say so, your further ac-
quaintance."
The stranger shook his head regretfully.
“ You are wrong," he protested. “We were
bound, in any case, to know one another. Shall I
tell you why? You have just declared yourself anx-
ious to set your heel upon the criminals of the world.
I have the distinction of being perhaps the most
famous patron of that maligned class now living
and my neck is at your service."
“ You appear to me,” Francis said suavely, “ to
be a buffoon.”
It might have been fancy, but Francis could have
sworn that he saw the glitter of a sovereign malev-
olence in the other's dark eyes. If so, it was but
a passing weakness, for a moment later the half
good-natured, half cynical smile was back again upon
the man's lips.
“ If so, I am at least a buffoon of parts," was the
prompt rejoinder. “ I will, if you choose, prove my-
self.”
There was a moment's silence. Wilmore was lean-
ing forward in his place, studying the newcomer
earnestly. An impatient invective was somehow
stified upon Francis' lips.
“Within a few yards of this place, sometime be-
fore the closing hour to-night," the intruder con-
tinued, earnestly yet with a curious absence of any
human quality in his hard tone, “ there will be a dis-
turbance, and probably what you would call a crime
will be committed. Will you use your vaunted gifts
to hunt down the desperate criminal, and, in your
own picturesque phraseology, set your heel upon his


56
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ Sir Timothy Brast,” Wilmore repeated. “ Yes,
I have heard of him.”
“Why, everybody knows Sir Timothy," Soto went
on eloquently. “ He is the greatest living patron of
boxing. He found the money for the last interna-
tional fight.”
“Does he often come in alone like this? " Francis
asked curiously.
“ Either alone,” Soto replied, “or with a very
large party. He entertains magnificently.”
“ I've seen his name in the paper in connection
with something or other, during the last few weeks,”
Wilmore remarked reflectively.
“Probably about two months ago, sir,” Soto sug-
gested. “He gave a donation of ten thousand
pounds to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals, and they made him a Vice President.
. . . In one moment, sir.”
The manager hurried away to receive a newly-
arrived guest. Francis and his friend exchanged a
wondering glance.
“Father of Oliver Hilditch's wife,” Wilmore ob-
served," the most munificent patron of boxing in the
world, Vice President of the Society for the Preven-
tion of Cruelty to Animals, and self-confessed arch-
criminal! He pulled our legs pretty well!”
“I suppose so," Francis assented absently.
Wilmore glanced at his watch.
“What about moving on somewhere?” he sug-
gested. “We might go into the Alhambra for half-
an-hour, if you like. The last act of the show is the
best.”
Francis shook his head.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
57
66 We've got to see this thing out,” he replied.
“ Have you forgotten that our friend promised us
a sensation before we left?”
Wilmore began to laugh a little derisively. Then,
suddenly aware of some lack of sympathy between
himself and his friend, he broke off and glanced curi-
ously at the latter.
“ You're not taking him seriously, are you?” he
enquired.
Francis nodded.
“ Certainly I am," he confessed.
“ You don't believe that he was getting at us?”
“ Not for a moment.”
“You believe that something is going to happen
here in this place, or quite close?”
“ I am convinced of it," was the calm reply.
Wilmore was silent. For a moment he was trou-
bled with his old fears as to his friend's condition.
A glance, however, at Francis' set face and equable,
watchful air, reassured him.
“We must see the thing through, of course, then,"
he assented. “Let us see if we can spot the actors
in the coming drama.”


CHAPTER IX
· It happened that the two men, waiting in the vesti-
bule of the restaurant for Francis' car to crawl up
to the entrance through the fog which had unex-
pectedly rolled up, heard the slight altercation which
was afterwards referred to as preceding the tragedy.
The two young people concerned were standing only
a few feet away, the girl pretty, a little peevish, an
ordinary type; her companion, whose boyish features
were marred with dissipation, a very passable ex-
ample of the young man about town going a little
beyond his tether.
. “It's no good standing here, Victor!" the girl
exclaimed, frowning. “ The commissionaire's been
gone ages already, and there are two others before
us for taxis.”
“We can't walk,” her escort replied gloomily.
“ It's a foul night. Nothing to do but wait, what?
Let's go back and have another drink.”
The girl stamped her satin-shod foot impatiently.
“ Don't be silly,” she expostulated. “You know
I promised Clara we'd be there early."
“ All very well,” the young man grumbled, “but
what can we do? We shall have to wait our turn."
“Why can't you slip out and look for a taxi your-
self?” she suggested. “Do, Victor,” she added,
squeezing. his arm. “ You're so clever at picking
them up.”
for taxi ready, and The com


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
59
He made a little grimace, but lit a cigarette and
turned up his coat collar.
“ I'll do my best,” he promised. “Don't go on
without me."
“ Try up towards Charing Cross Road, not the
other way,” she advised earnestly
“Right-oh!” he replied, which illuminative form
of assent, a word spoken as he plunged unwillingly
into the thick obscurity on the other side of the re-
volving doors, was probably the last he ever uttered
on earth.
Left alone, the girl began to shiver, as though
suddenly cold. She turned around and glanced hur-
riedly back into the restaurant. At that moment
she met the steady, questioning scrutiny of Francis'
eyes. She stood as though transfixed. Then came
the sound which every one talked of for months after-
wards, the sound which no one who heard it ever for-
got — the death cry of Victor Bidlake, followed a
second afterwards by a muffled report. A strain of
frenzied surprise seemed mingled with the horror.
Afterwards, silence.
There was the sound of some commotion outside,
the sound of hurried footsteps and agitated voices.
Then a terrible little procession appeared. Some-
thing — it seemed to be a shapeless heap of clothes
- was carried in and laid upon the floor, in the little
space between the revolving doors and the inner en-
trance. Two blue-liveried attendants kept back the
horrified but curious crowd. Francis, vaguely rec-
ognised as being somehow or other connected with
the law, was one of the few people allowed to remain
whilst a doctor, fetched out from the dancing-room,


60
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
kneeled over the prostrate form. He felt that he
knew beforehand the horrible verdict which the latter
whispered in his ear after his brief examination.
“Quite dead! A ghastly business! "
Francis gazed at the hole in the shirt-front, dis-
figured also by a scorching stain.
“A bullet?” he asked.
The doctor nodded.
“ Fired within a foot of the poor fellow's heart,"
he whispered. “The murderer wasn't taking any
chances, whoever he was.”
“Have the police been sent for?”
The head-porter stepped forward.
“ There was a policeman within a few yards of
the spot, sir,” he replied. “He's gone down to keep
every one away from the place where we found the
body. We've telephoned to Scotland Yard for an
inspector.”
The doctor rose to his feet.
“Nothing more can be done,” he pronounced.
“ Keep the people out of here whilst I go and fetch
my hat and coat. Afterwards, I'll take the body to
the mortuary when the ambulance arrives.”
An attendant pushed his way through the crowd
of people on the inner side of the door.
“Miss Daisy Hyslop, young lady who was with
Mr. Bidlake, has just fainted in the ladies' room,
sir,” he announced. “ Could you come?”
“ I'll be there immediately,” the doctor prom-
ised. . . .
The rest of the proceedings followed a normal
course. The police arrived, took various notes, the
ambulance followed a little later, the body was re-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
61
moved, and the little crowd of guests, still infected
with a sort of awed excitement, were allowed to take
their leave. Francis and Wilmore drove almost in
silence to the former's rooms in Clarges Street.
“ Come up and have a drink, Andrew," Francis
invited.
“I need it,” was the half-choked response.
Francis led the way in silence up the two flights
of stairs into his sitting-room, mixed whiskies and
sodas from the decanter and syphon which stood
upon the sideboard, and motioned his friend to an
easy-chair. Then he gave form to the thought which
had been haunting them both.
“What about our friend Sir Timothy Brast?"
he enquired. “Do you believe now that he was pull-
ing our legs? ”
Wilmore dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.
It was a chilly evening, but there were drops of
perspiration still standing there.
“ Francis," he confessed, “it's horrible! I don't
think realism like this attracts me. It's horrible!
What are we going to do? ”
“Nothing for the present," was the brief reply.
“ If we were to tell our story, we should only be
laughed at. What there is to be done falls to my
lot.”
“Had the police anything to say about it? " Wil-
more asked.
“ Only a few words,” Francis replied. “Shop-
land has it in hand. A good man but unimaginative.
I've come across him in one or two cases lately.
You'll find a little bit like this in the papers to-mor-
row: ‘The murder is believed to have been committed,


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
63
a man with his possessions is likely to risk his life and
liberty in becoming the inspiration of a band of cut-
throats? "
Francis smiled. He, too, had lit his pipe and had
thrown himself into his favourite chair. He smiled
confidently across at his friend.
“ A millionaire with brains," he argued, “is just
the one person in the world likely to weary of all
ordinary forms of diversion. I begin to remember
things about him already. Haven't you heard about
his wonderful parties down at The Walled House?”
Wilmore struck the table by his side with his
clenched fist.
“ By George, that's it!” he exclaimed. “ Who
hasn't!”
“I remember Baker talking about one last year,"
Francis continued, “never any details, but all kinds
of mysterious hints — a sort of mixture between a
Roman orgy and a chapter from the 'Arabian
Nights' — singers from Petrograd, dancers from
Africa and fighting men from Chicago."
“ The fellow's magnificent, at any rate,” Wilmore
remarked.
His host smoked furiously for a moment.
“ That's the worst of these multi-millionaires," he
declared. They think they can rule the world,
traffic in human souls, buy morals, mock at the law.
We shall see!”
“Do you know the thing that I found most inter-
esting about him? " Wilmore asked.
“ His black opals,” the other suggested. “You're
by the way of being a collector, aren't you?”
Wilmore shook his head.


64
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ The fact that he is the father of Oliver Hil-
ditch's widow."
Francis sat quite still for a moment. There was
a complete change in his expression. He looked like
a man who has received a shock.
“ I forgot that,” he muttered.


CHAPTER X
Francis met Shopland one morning about a week
later, on his way from Clarges Street to his chambers
in the Temple. The detective raised his hat and
would have passed on, but Francis accosted him.
“ Any progress, Mr. Shopland? ” he enquired.
The detective fingered his small, sandy moustache.
He was an insignificant-looking little man, under-
sized, with thin frame and watery eyes. His mouth,
however, was hard, and there were some tell-tale little
lines at its corners.
“None whatever, I am sorry to say, Mr. Ledsam,”
he admitted. “At present we are quite in the dark.”
“ You found the weapon, I hear?”
Shopland nodded.
“ It was just an ordinary service revolver, dating
from the time of the war, exactly like a hundred
thousand others. The enquiries we were able to make
from it came to nothing."
“Where was it picked up?"
“In the middle of the waste plot of ground next
to Soto's. The murderer evidently threw it there the
moment he had discharged it. He must have been
wearing rubber-soled shoes, for not a soul heard him
go.”
Francis nodded thoughtfully.
“I wonder,” he said, after a slight pause,
“ whether it ever occurred to you to interview Miss


66
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
Daisy Hyslop, the young lady who was with Bid-
lake on the night of his murder?”
“I called upon her the day afterwards,” the de-
tective answered.
“ She had nothing to say?"
“ Nothing whatever.”
“ Indirectly, of course," Francis continued, “ the
poor girl was the cause of his death. If she had not
insisted upon his going out for a taxicab, the man
who was loitering about would probably have never
got hold of him.”
The detective glanced up furtively at the speaker.
He seemed to reflect for a moment.
“I gathered,” he said, “in conversation with the
commissionaire, that Miss Hyslop was a little im-
patient that night. It seems, however, that she was
anxious to get to a ball which was being given down
in Kensington.”
“ There was a ball, was there? ” Francis asked..
“ Without a doubt," the detective replied. “It
was given by a Miss Clara Bultiwell. She happens
to remember urging Miss Hyslop to come on as early
as possible.”
“So that's that,” Francis observed.
“Just so, Mr. Ledsam,” the detective murmured.
They were walking along the Mall now, eastwards.
The detective, who seemed to have been just a saun-
terer, had accommodated himself to Francis' destina-
tion.
“Let me see, there was nothing stolen from the
young man's person, was there?" Francis asked pres-
ently.
“ Apparently nothing at all, sir.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
67
“And I gather that you have made every possible
enquiry as to the young man's relations with his
friends ? ”
“So far as one can learn, sir, they seem to have
been perfectly amicable.”
“Of course," Francis remarked presently, “ this
may have been quite a purposeless affair. The deed
may have been committed by a man who was prac-
tically a lunatic, without any motive or reason what-
ever."
u
“ 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 ex-
ternal 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.
“ The young lady whom you have already seen,”
he assented. “At the same time, Mr. Shopland, we
must remember this. If Miss Hyslop has any knowl-
edge of the facts which are behind Mr. Bidlake's
murder, it is more likely to be to her interest to keep
them to herself, than to give them away to the police
free gratis and for nothing. Do you follow me?"
“ Precisely, sir.”
“ That being so,” Francis continued, “ I am going
to make a proposition to you for what it is worth.
Where were you going when I met you this morning,
Shopland?”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ To call upon you in Clarges Street, sir.”
“What for?”
“I was going to ask you if you would be so kind
as to call upon Miss Daisy Hyslop, sir."
Francis smiled.
“ Great minds," he murmured. “I will see the
young lady this afternoon, Shopland.”
The detective raised his hat. They had reached
the spot where his companion turned off by the
Horse Guards Parade.
“I may hope to hear from you, then, sir?"
“ Within the course of a day or two, perhaps
earlier,” Francis promised.
Francis continued his walk along the Embankment
to his chambers in the Temple. He glanced in the
outer office as he passed to his consulting room.
“ Anything fresh, Angrave? ” he asked his head-
clerk.
“Nothing whatever, sir," was the quiet reply.
He passed on to his own den — a bare room with
long windows looking out over the gardens. He
glanced at the two or three letters which lay on his
desk, none of them of the least interest, and leaning
back in his chair commenced to fill his pipe. There
was a knock at the door. Fawsitt, a young beginner
at the bar, in whom he had taken some interest and
who deviled for him, presented himself.
“ Can I have a word with you, Mr. Ledsam?” he
asked.
“ By all means," was the prompt response. “Sit
down.”
Fawsitt seated himself on the other side of the


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
69
table. He had a long, thin face, dark, narrow eyes,
unwholesome complexion, a slightly hooked nose, and
teeth discoloured through constant smoking. His
fingers, too, bore the tell-tale yellow stains.
“Mr. Ledsam," he said, “ I think, with your per-
mission, I should like to leave at the end of my next
three months.”
Francis glanced across at him.
“ Sorry to hear that, Fawsitt. Are you going to
work for any one else? ”
“I haven't made arrangements yet, sir,” the
young man replied. I thought of offering myself
to Mr. Barnes.”
“Why do you want to leave me?" · Francis
asked.
" There isn't enough for me to do, sir.”
Francis lit his pipe.
“ It's probably just a lull, Fawsitt,” he remarked.
“ I don't think so, sir.”
“ The devil! You've been gossiping with some of
these solicitors' clerks, Fawsitt.”
“ I shouldn't call it gossiping, sir. I am always
interested to hear anything that may concern our
- my future. I have reason to believe, sir, that we
are being passed over for briefs.”
“ The reason being?”
“One can't pick and choose, sir. One shouldn't,
anyway.”
Francis smiled.
“ You evidently don't approve of any measure of
personal choice as to the work which one takes up."
“ Certainly I do not, sir, in our profession. The
only brief I would refuse would be a losing or an


10
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
ill-paid one. I don't conceive it to be our business
to prejudge a case.”
“ I see," Francis murmured. “Go on, Fawsitt.”
“ There's a rumour about," the young man con-
tinued," that you are only going to plead where the
chances are that your client is innocent."
“ There's some truth in that,” Francis admitted.
“If I could leave a little before the three months,
sir, I should be glad,” Fawsitt said. “I look at the
matter from an entirely different point of view.”
“ You shall leave when you like, of course, Fawsitt,
but tell me what that point of view is? ”
“Just this, sir. The simplest-minded idiot who
ever stammered through his address, can get an in-
nocent prisoner off if he knows enough of the facts
and the law. To my mind, the real triumph in our
profession is to be able to unwind the meshes of
damning facts and force a verdict for an indubitably
guilty client.”
“How does the moral side of that appeal to you? "
his senior enquired.
“I didn't become a barrister to study morals, or
even to consider them,” was the somewhat caustic
reply. “When once a brief is in my mind, it is a
matter of brain, cunning and resource. The guiltier
a man, the greater the success if you can get him
off.”
“And turn him loose again upon Society?"
“ It isn't our job to consider that, sir. The moral
question is only confusing in the matter. Our job
is to make use of the law for the benefit of our client.
That's what we're paid for. That's the measure of
our success or failure.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 71
Francis nodded.
“Very reasonably put, Fawsitt,” he conceded.
“ I'll give you a letter to Barnes whenever you like.”
“I should be glad if you would do so, sir,” the
young man said. “ I'm only wasting my time
here. . . .”
Francis wrote a letter of recommendation to
Barnes, the great K. C., considered a stray brief
which had found its way in, and strolled up towards
the Milan as the hour approached luncheon-time.
In the American bar of that palatial hotel he found
the young man he was looking for – a flaxen-haired
youth who was seated upon one of the small tables,
with his feet upon a chair, laying down the law to a
little group of acquaintances. He greeted Francis
cordially but without that due measure of respect
which nineteen should accord to thirty-five.
“ Cheerio, my elderly relative!” he exclaimed.
“ Have a cocktail.”
Francis nodded assent.
“ Come into this corner with me for a moment,
Charles," he invited. “I have a word for your
ear."
The young man rose and sat by his uncle's side
on a settee.
“In my declining years," the latter began, “ I find
myself reverting to the follies of youth. I require
a letter of introduction from you to a young lady
of your acquaintance.”
“ The devil! Not one of my own special little
pets, I hope?”
“Her name is Miss Daisy Hyslop,” Francis an-
nounced.


72 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
Lord Charles Southover pursed his lips and
whistled. He glanced at Francis sideways.
“Is this the beginning of a campaign amongst the
butterflies,” he enquired, “because, if so, I feel it my
duty, uncle, to address to you a few words of solemn
warning. Miss Daisy Hyslop is hot stuff.”
“ Look here, young fellow,” Francis said equably,
“I don't know what the state of your exchequer
is "
“I owe you forty,” Lord Charles interrupted.
“ Spring another tenner, make it fifty, that is, and
the letter of introduction I will write for you will
bring tears of gratitude to your eyes.”
“I'll spring the tenner," Francis promised, “but
you'll write just what I tell you — no more and no
less.”
“ Anything extra for keeping mum at home? ” the
young man ventured tentatively.
“ You're a nice sort of nephew to have!” Francis
declared. “Abandon these futile attempts at black-
mail and just come this way to the writing-table.”
“You've got the tenner with you?" the young man
asked anxiously.
Francis produced a well-filled pocketbook. His
nephew led the way to a writing-table, lit a cigarette
which he stuck into the corner of his mouth, and in
painstaking fashion wrote the few lines which Francis
dictated. The ten pounds changed hands.
“ Have one with me for luck?” the young man
invited brightly. “No? Perhaps you're right,” he
added, in valedictory fashion. “You'd better keep
your head clear for Daisy!”


CHAPTER XI
Miss Daisy HYSLOP received Francis that after-
noon, in the sitting-room of her little suite at the
Milan. Her welcoming smile was plaintive and a
little subdued, her manner undeniably gracious. She
was dressed in black, a wonderful background for
her really gorgeous hair, and her deportment indi-
cated a recent loss.
How nice of you to come and see me," she mur-
mured, with a lingering touch of the fingers. “Do
take that easy-chair, please, and sit down and talk
to me. Your roses were beautiful, but whatever made
you send them to me?”
“ Impulse,” he answered.
She laughed softly.
“ Then please yield to such impulses as often as
you feel them,” she begged. “I adore flowers. Just
now, too,” she added, with a little sigh, “ anything
is welcome which helps to keep my mind off my own
affairs."
“ It was very good of you to let me come,” he de-
clared. “I can quite understand that you don't
feel like seeing many people just now.”
Francis' manner, although deferential and courte-
ous, had nevertheless some quality of aloofness in it
to which she was unused and which she was quick to
recognise. The smile faded from her face. She
seemed suddenly not quite so young.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
tovi"
“ Haven't I seen you before somewhere quite
lately? " she asked, a little sharply.
“ You saw me at Soto's, the night that Victor
Bidlake was murdered," he reminded her. “I stood
quite close to you both while you were waiting for
your taxi.”
The animation evoked by this call from a pre-
sumably new admirer, suddenly left her. She became
nervous and constrained. She glanced again at his
card.
“Don't tell me,” she begged, " that you have come
to ask me any questions about that night! I simply
could not bear it. The police have been here twice,
and I had nothing to tell them, absolutely nothing."
“Quite right,” he assented soothingly. “ Police
have such a clumsy way of expecting valuable infor-
mation for nothing. I'm always glad to hear of their
being disappointed.”
She studied her visitor for a moment carefully.
Then she turned to the table by her side, picked up
a note and read it through.
“Lord Southover tells me here,” she said, “ that
you are just a pal of his who wants to make my ac-
quaintance. He doesn't say why.”
“Is that necessary?” Francis asked good-
naturedly. .
She moved in her chair a little nervously, cross-
ing and uncrossing her legs more than once. Her
white silk stockings underneath her black skirt were
exceedingly effective, a fact of which she never lost
consciousness, although at that moment she was
scarcely inspired to play the coquette.
“I'd like to think it wasn't,” she admitted frankly.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
75
“ I've seen you repeatedly upon the stage,” he told
her, “ and though musical comedy is rather out of
my line, I have always admired you immensely.”
She studied him once more almost wistfully.
“You look very nice," she acknowledged, “but
you don't look at all the kind of man who admires.
girls who do the sort of rubbish I do on the stage.”
“ What do I look like? ” he asked, smiling.
“A man with a purpose," she answered.
“I begin to think,” he ventured, “ that we shall
get on. You are really a very astute young lady."
“You are quite sure you're not one of these
amateur detectives one reads about? ” she demanded.
“ Certainly not,” he assured her. “I will confess.
that I am interested in Victor Bidlake's death, and I
should like to discover the truth about it, but I have
a reason for that which I may tell you some day.
It has nothing whatever to do with the young man.
himself. To the best of my belief, I never saw or
heard of him before in my life. My interest lies with
another person. You have lost a great friend, I
know. If you felt disposed to tell me the whole story,
it might make such a difference.”
She sighed. Her confidence was returning — also
her self-pity. The latter at once betrayed itself.
“You see," she confided, “ Victor and I were en-
gaged to be married, so naturally I let him help me
a little. I shan't be able to stay on here now. They
are bothering me about their bill already,” she added,
with a side-glance at an envelope which stood on a.
table by her side.
He drew a little nearer to her.
“ Miss Hyslop "he began.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“Daisy,” she interrupted.
“Miss Daisy Hyslop, then,” he continued, smiling,
“I suggested just now that I did not want to come
and bother you for information without any return.
If I can be of any assistance to you in that matter,"
he added, glancing towards the envelope, “ I shall be
very pleased.”
She sighed gratefully.
“ Just till Victor's people return to town,” she
said. “I know that they mean to do something for
me."
“How much?” he asked.
“ Two hundred pounds would keep me going,” she
told him.
He wrote out a cheque. Miss Hyslop drew a sigh
of relief as she laid it on one side with the envelope.
Then she swung round in her chair to face him where
he sat at the writing-table.
“I am afraid you will think that what I have to
tell is very insignificant,” she confessed. “ Victor
was one of those boys who always fancied themselves
bored. He was bored with polo, bored with motoring,
bored with the country and bored with town. Then
quite suddenly during the last few weeks he seemed
changed. All that he would tell me was that he had
found a new interest in life. I don't know what it
was but I don't think it was a nice one. He seemed
to drop all his old friends, too, and go about with
a new set altogether — not a nice set at all. He
used to stay out all night, and he quite gave up go-
ing to dances and places where he could take me.
Once or twice he came here in the afternoon, dead
beat, without having been to bed at all, and before


778 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“Nothing,” she acknowledged eagerly.
“ Then let's dine somewhere and see the show at
the Frivolity,” he suggested.
“ You dear man!” she assented with enthusiasm.
“ The one thing I wanted to do, and the one person
I wanted to do it with."


80
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
woman who sorrows. She was still frigidly beautiful,
redolent, in all the details of her toilette, of that al-
most negative perfection which he had learnt to ex-
pect from her. She suggested to him still that same
sense of aloofness from the actualities of life.
“I prefer not to believe that it is ended,” he pro-
tested. “Have you so many friends that you have
no room for one who has never consciously done you
any harm?”
She looked at him with some faint curiosity in her
immobile features.
“ Harm? No! On the contrary, I suppose I
ought to thank you for your evidence at the inquest.”
“Some part of it was the truth,” he replied.
“ I suppose so,” she admitted drily. "You told
it very cleverly.”
He looked her in the eyes.
“My profession helped me to be a good witness,"
he said. “ As for the gist of my evidence, that was
between my conscience and myself.”
“ Your conscience? ” she repeated. “Are there
really men who possess such things?”
“I hope you will discover that for yourself some
day,” he answered. “ Tell me your plans? Where
are you living?”
“For the present with my father in Curzon
Street.”
“ With Sir Timothy Brast?"
She assented.
“ You know him?" she asked indifferently.
“ Very slightly,” Francis replied. “We talked
together, some nights ago, at Soto’s Restaurant. I
am afraid that I did not make a very favourable


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
81
impression upon him. I gathered, too, that he has
somewhat eccentric tastes.”
“I do not see a great deal of my father," she
said. “We met, a few months ago, for the first time
since my marriage, and things have been a little diffi-
cult between us — just at first. He really scarcely
ever puts in an appearance at Curzon Street. I
dare say you have heard that he makes a hobby of
an amazing country house which he has down the
river."
“ The Walled House?” he ventured.
She nodded.
“I see you have heard of it. All London, they
tell me, gossips about the entertainments there."
“Are they really so wonderful?” he asked.
“I have never been to one," she replied. “As a
matter of fact, I have spent scarcely any time in
England since my marriage. My husband, as I re-
member he told you, was fond of travelling."
Notwithstanding the warm spring air he was con-
scious of a certain chilliness. Her level, indifferent
tone seemed to him almost abnormally callous. A
horrible realisation flashed for a moment in his
brain. She was speaking of the man whom she had
killed!
“ Your father overheard a remark of mine,"
Francis told her. “I was at Soto's with a friend
— Andrew Wilmore, the novelist — and to tell you
the truth we were speaking of the shock I experi-
enced when I realised that I had been devoting every
effort of which I was capable, to saving the life of
- shall we say a criminal? Your father heard me
say, in rather a flamboyant manner, perhaps, that in


82
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
future I declared war against all crime and all crim-
inals.”
She smiled very faintly, a smile which had in it no
single element of joy or humour.
“I can quite understand my father intervening,"
she said. “ He poses as being rather a patron of
artistically-perpetrated crime. Sue is his favourite
author, and I believe that he has exceedingly grim
ideas as to duelling and fighting generally. He was
in prison once for six months at New Orleans for
killing a man who insulted my mother. Nothing in
the world would ever have convinced him that he had
not done a perfectly legitimate thing.”
“I am expecting to find him quite an interesting
study, when I know him better,” Francis pronounced.
“My only fear is that he will count me an unfriendly
person and refuse to have anything to do with me.”
“I am not at all sure,” she said indifferently,
" that it would not be very much better for you if
he did.”
“I cannot admit that,” he answered, smiling. “I
think that our paths in life are too far apart for
either of us to influence the other. You don't share
his tastes, do you?”
“ Which ones? ” she asked, after a moment's si-
lence.
“ Well, boxing for one,” he replied. “They tell
me that he is the greatest living patron of the ring,
both here and in America.”
“I have never been to a fight in my life,” she con-
fessed. “I hope that I never may.”
“I can't go so far as that,” he declared, “but
boxing isn't altogether one of my hobbies. Can't


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
83
we leave your father and his tastes alone for the
present? I would rather talk about — ourselves.
Tell me what you care about most in life?"
“Nothing,” she answered listlessly.
“But that is only a phase," he persisted. “ You
have had terrible trials, I know, and they must have
affected your outlook on life, but you are still young,
and while one is young life is always worth having.”
“I thought so once," she assented. “I don't
now.”
“ But there must be there will be compensa-
tions,” he assured her. “I know that just now you
are suffering from the reaction — after all you have
gone through. The memory of that will pass.”
“ The memory of what I have gone through will
never pass," she answered.
There was a moment's intense silence, a silence
pregnant with reminiscent drama. The little room
rose up before his memory — the woman's hopeless,
hating eyes, the quivering thread of steel, the dead
man's mocking words. He seemed at that moment
to see into the recesses of her mind. Was it remorse
that troubled her, he wondered? Did she lack
strength to realise that in that half-hour at the in-
quest he had placed on record for ever his judgment
of her deed? Even to think of it now was morbid.
Although he would never have confessed it even to
himself, there was growing daily in his mind some
idea of reward. She had never thanked him — he
hoped that she never would — but he had surely a
right to claim some measure of her thoughts, some
slight place in her life.
“ Please look at me,” he begged, a little abruptly.


84
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
She turned her head in some surprise. Francis
was almost handsome in the clear Spring sunlight,
his face alight with animation, his deep-set grey eyes
full of amused yet anxious solicitude. Even as she
appreciated these things and became dimly conscious
of his eager interest, her perturbation seemed to
grow.
“Well? ” she ventured.
“Do I look like a person who knew what he was
talking about?” he asked.
“ On the whole, I should say that you did," she
admitted.
“ Very well, then," he went on cheerfully, “ believe
me when I say that the shadow which depresses you
all the time now will pass. I say this confidently,”
he added, his voice softening,“ because I hope to be
allowed to help. Haven't you guessed that I am
very glad indeed to see you again?"
She came to a sudden standstill. They had just
passed through Lansdowne Passage and were in the
quiet end of Curzon Street.
“But you must not talk to me like that!” she
expostulated.
“Why not? " he demanded. “We have met under
strange and untoward circumstances, but are you
so very different from other women?”
For a single moment she seemed infinitely more
human, startled, a little nervous, exquisitely sympa-
thetic to an amazing and unexpected impression.
She seemed to look with glad but terrified eyes to-
wards the vision of possible things — and then to
realise that it was but a trick of the fancy and to
come shivering back to the world of actualities.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
85
“I am very different,” she said quietly. “I have
lived my life. What I lack in years has been made
up to me in horror. I have no desire now but to get
rid of this aftermath of years as smoothly and
quickly as possible. I do not wish any man, Mr.
Ledsam, to talk to me as you are doing.”
“ You will not accept my friendship?"
“ It is impossible,” she replied.
“ May I be allowed to call upon you?” he went on,
doggedly.
“I do not receive visitors," she answered.
They were walking slowly up Curzon Street now.
She had given him every opportunity to leave her,
opportunities to which he was persistently blind.
Her obstinacy had been a shock to him.
“I am sorry,” he said, “ but I cannot accept my
dismissal like this. I shall appeal to your father.
However much he may dislike me, he has at least
common-sense.”
She looked at him with a touch of the old horror
in her coldly-questioning eyes.
“ In your way you have been kind to me,” she
admitted. “Let me in return give you a word of
advice. Let me beg you to have nothing whatever
to do with my father, in friendship or in enmity.
Either might be equally disastrous. Either, in the
long run, is likely to cost you dear.”
“If that is your opinion of your father, why do
you live with him? ” he asked. :
She had become entirely callous again. Her smile,
with its mocking quality, reminded him for a moment
of the man whom they were discussing.
“Because I am a luxury and comfort-loving para-


86
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
site,” she answered deliberately, “because my father
gladly pays my accounts at Lucille and Worth and
Reville, because I have never learnt to do without
things. And please remember this. My father, so
far as I am concerned, has no faults. He is a gener-
ous and courteous companion. Nevertheless, number
70 b, Curzon Street is no place for people who desire
to lead normal lives.”
And with that she was gone. Her gesture of dis-
missal was so complete and final that he had no
courage for further argument. He had lost her al-
most as soon as he had found her.


CHAPTER XIII
Four men were discussing the verdict at the ad-
journed inquest upon Victor Bidlake, at Soto's
American Bar about a fortnight later. They were
Robert Fairfax, a young actor in musical comedy,
Peter Jacks, a cinema producer, Gerald Morse, a
dress designer, and Sidney Voss, a musical composer
and librettist, all habitués of the place and members
of the little circle towards which the dead man had
seemed, during the last few weeks of his life, to have
become attracted. At a table a short distance away,
Francis Ledsam was seated with a cocktail and a
dish of almonds before him. He seemed to be study-
ing an evening paper and to be taking but the scanti-
est notice of the conversation at the bar.
“ It just shows," Peter Jacks declared, “ that
crime is the easiest game in the world. Given a rea-
sonable amount of intelligence, and a murderer's
business is about as simple as a sandwich-man's.”
“ The police," Gerald Morse, a pale-faced,
anæmic-looking youth, declared, “rely upon two
things, circumstantial evidence and motive. In the
present case there is no circumstantial evidence, and
as to motive, poor old Victor was too big a fool to
have an enemy in the world.”
Sidney Voss, who was up for the Sheridan Club
and had once been there, glanced respectfully across
at Francis.


88
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ You ought to know something about crime and
criminals, Mr. Ledsam,” he said. “Have you any
theory about the affair?”
Francis set down the glass from which he had been
drinking, and, folding up the evening paper, laid it
by the side of him.
“ As a matter of fact,” he answered calmly, “I
have.”
The few words, simply spoken, yet in their way
charged with menace, thrilled through the little room.
Fairfax swung round upon his stool, a tall, aggres-
sive-looking youth whose good-looks were half eaten
up with dissipation. His eyes were unnaturally
bright, the cloudy remains in his glass indicated
absinthe.
“Listen, you fellows!” he exclaimed. “Mr.
Francis Ledsam, the great criminal barrister, is go-
ing 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. No one seemed to notice the
newcomer who passed quietly to a chair in the back-
ground, although he was a person of some note and
interest to all of them. Imperturbable and immacu-
late as ever, Sir Timothy Brast smiled amiably upon
the little gathering, summoned a waiter and ordered
a Dry Martini.
“I can scarcely promise to do that,” Francis said
slowly, his eyes resting for a second or two upon
each of the four faces. “ Exact solutions are a little
out of my line. I think I can promise to give you a
shock, though, if you're strong enough to stand it.”


90
THT TUT
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
" The murder was not committed in the place,"
Francis commented calmly.
Fairfax slid off his stool. A spot of colour blazed
in his pale cheeks, the glass which he was holding
snapped in his fingers. He seemed suddenly pos-
sessed.
“I say, what the hell are you getting at?” he
cried. “Are you accusing me — or any of us —
Victor's pals?”
“I accuse no one,” Francis replied, unperturbed.
“ You invited a statement from me and I made it.”
Sir Timothy Brast rose from his place and made
his way to the end of the counter, next to Fairfax
and nearest Francis. He addressed the former.
There was an inscrutable smile upon his lips, his man-
ner was reassuring.
“ Young gentleman," he begged, “pray do not
disturb yourself. I will answer for it that neither
you nor any of your friends are the objects of Mr.
Ledsam's suspicion. Without a doubt, it is I to
whom his somewhat bold statement refers.”
They all stared at him, immersed in another crisis,
bereft of speech. He tapped a cigarette upon the
counter and lit it. Fairfax, whose glass had just
been refilled by the bartender, was still ghastly pale,
shaking with nervousness and breathing hoarsely.
Francis, tense and alert in his chair, watched the
speaker but said nothing.
“ You see," Sir Timothy continued, addressing
himself to the four young men at the bar, “ I happen
to have two special aversions in life. One is sweet
champagne and the other amateur detectives — their
stories, their methods and everything about them.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
91
I chanced to sit upstairs in the restaurant, within
hearing of Mr. Ledsam and his friend Mr. Wilmore,
the novelist, the other night, and I heard Mr. Led-
sam, very much to my chagrin, announce his inten-
tion of abandoning a career in which he has, if he will
allow me to say so," — with a courteous bow to
Francis — “ attained considerable distinction, to in-
dulge in the moth-eaten, flamboyant and melodra-
matic antics of the lesser Sherlock Holmes. I fear
that I could not resist the opportunity of — I think
you young men call it — pulling his leg.”
Every one was listening intently, including Shop-
land, who had just drifted into the room and sub-
sided into a chair near Francis.
“I moved my place, therefore," Sir Timothy con-
tinued," and I whispered in Mr. Ledsam's ear some
rodomontade to the effect that if he were planning to
be the giant crime-detector of the world, I was by
ambition the arch-criminal — or words to that effect.
And to give emphasis to my words, I wound up by
prophesying a crime in the immediate vicinity of the
place within a few hours.”
.
“A somewhat significant prophecy, under the cir-
cumstances,” Francis remarked, reaching out for a
dish of salted almonds and drawing them towards
him.
Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.
“ I will confess,” he admitted, “ that I had not in
my mind an affair of such dimensions. My harmless
remark, however, has produced cataclysmic effects.
The conversation to which I refer took place on the
night of young Bidlake's murder, and Mr. Ledsam,
with my somewhat, I confess, bombastic words in his


92
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
memory, has pitched upon me as the bloodthirsty
murderer.”
“ Hold on for a moment, sir,” Peter Jacks begged,
wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “We've
got to have another drink quick. Poor old Bobby
here looks knocked all of a heap, and I'm kind of
jumpy myself. You'll join us, sir?"
“I thank you,” was the courteous reply. “I do
not as a rule indulge to the extent of more than one
cocktail, but I will recognise the present as an excep-
tional occasion. To continue, then," he went on,
after the glasses had been filled, “ I have during the
last few weeks experienced the ceaseless and lynx-eyed
watch of Mr. Ledsam and presumably his myrmidons.
I do not know whether you are all acquainted with
my name, but in case you are not, let me introduce
myself. I am Sir Timothy Brast, Chairman, as I
dare say you know, of the United Transvaal Gold
Mines, Chairman, also, of two of the principal hos-
pitals in London, Vice President of the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, a patron of sport
in many forms, a traveller in many countries, and a
recipient of the honour of knighthood from His Maj-.
esty, in recognition of my services for various philan-
thropic works. These facts, however, have availed
me nothing now that the bungling amateur investi-
gator into crime has pointed the finger of suspicion
towards me. My servants and neighbours have alike
been plagued to death with cunning questions as to
my life and habits. I have been watched in the
streets and watched in my harmless amusements. My
simple life has been peered into from every perspec-
tive and direction. In short, I am suspect. Mr.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
93
Ledsam's terrifying statement a few minutes ago was
directed towards me and me only.”
There were murmurs of sympathy from the four
young men, who each in his own fashion appeared to
derive consolation from Sir Timothy's frank and
somewhat caustic statement. Francis, who had lis-
tened unmoved to this flow of words, glanced towards
the door behind which dark figures seemed to be loom-
ing.
“ That is all you have to say, Sir Timothy?” he
asked politely.
“For the present, yes," was the guarded reply.
“ I trust that I have succeeded in setting these young
gentlemen's minds at ease.”
“ There is one of them,” Francis said gravely,
“ whose mind not even your soothing words could
lighten.”
Shopland had risen unobtrusively to his feet. He
laid his hand suddenly on Fairfax's shoulder and
whispered in his ear. Fairfax, after his first start,
seemed cool enough. He stretched out his hand to-
wards the glass which as yet he had not touched,
covered it with his fingers for a moment and drained
its contents. The gently sarcastic smile left Sir
Timothy's lips. His eyebrows met in a quick frown,
his eyes glittered.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded
sharply.
A policeman in plain clothes had advanced from
the door. The manager hovered in the background.
Shopland saw that all was well.
“ It means," he announced, “ that I have just ar-
rested Mr. Robert Fairfax here on a charge of wilful


CHAPTER XIV
THE greatest tragedies in the world, provided they
happen to other people, have singularly little effect
upon the externals of our own lives. There was cer-
tainly not a soul in Soto's that night who did not
know that Bobby Fairfax had been arrested in the
bar below for the murder of Victor Bidlake, had
taken poison and died on the way to the police sta-
tion. Yet the same number of dinners were ordered
and eaten, the same quantity of wine drunk. The
management considered that they had shown marvel-
lous delicacy of feeling by restraining the orchestra
from their usual musical gymnastics until after the
service of dinner. Conversation, in consequence,
buzzed louder than ever. One speculation in par-
ticular absorbed the attention of every single person
in the room — why had Bobby Fairfax, at the zenith
of a very successful career, risked the gallows and
actually accepted death for the sake of killing Victor
Bidlake, a young man with whom, so far as anybody
knew, he had no cause of quarrel whatever? There
were many theories, many people who knew the real
facts and whispered them into a neighbour's ear, only
to have them contradicted a few moments later. Yet,
curiously enough, the two men who knew most about
it were the two most silent men in the room, for each
was dining alone. Francis, who had remained only
in the hope that something of the sort might happen,
was conscious of a queer sense of excitement when,


96 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
with the service of coffee, Sir Timothy, glass in hand,
moved up from a table lower down and with a word
of apology took the vacant place by his side. It was
what he had desired, and yet he felt a thrill almost of
fear at Sir Timothy's murmured words. He felt
that he was in the company of one who, if not an
enemy, at any rate had no friendly feeling towards
him.
“My congratulations, Mr. Ledsam,” Sir Timothy
said quietly. “You appear to have started your
career with a success."
“ Only a partial one,” Francis acknowledged,
“ and as a matter of fact I deny that I have started
in any new career. It was easy enough to make use
of a fluke and direct the intelligence of others to-
wards the right person, but when the real significance
of the thing still eludes you, one can scarcely claim a
triumph.”
Sir Timothy gently knocked the ash from the very
fine cigar which he was smoking.
“ Still, your groundwork was good,” he observed.
Francis shrugged his shoulders.
“ That,” he admitted, “was due to chance.”
“ Shall we exchange notes?” Sir Timothy sug-
gested gently. “It might be interesting.”
“As you will,” Francis assented." There is no
particular secret in the way I stumbled upon the
truth. I was dining here that night, as you know,
with Andrew Wilmore, and while he was ordering the
dinner and talking to some friends, I went down to
the American Bar to have a cocktail. Miss Daisy
Hyslop and Fairfax were seated there alone and talk-
ing confidentially. Fairfax was insisting that Miss


THE EVIL SHEPHERD . 97
Hyslop should do something which puzzled her. She
consented reluctantly, and Fairfax then hurried off
to the theatre. Later on, Miss Hyslop and the un-
fortunate young man occupied a table close to ours,
and I happened to notice that she made a point of
leaving the restaurant at a particular time. While
they were waiting in the vestibule she grew very im-
patient. I was standing behind them and I saw her
glance at the clock just before she insisted upon her
companion's going out himself to look for a taxicab.
Ergo, one enquires at Fairfax's theatre. For that
exact three-quarters of an hour he is off the stage.
At that point my interest in the matter ceases.
Scotland Yard was quite capable of the rest.”
“ Disappointing," Sir Timothy murmured. “I
thought at first that you were over-modest. I find
that I was mistaken. It was chance alone which set
you on the right track.”
“Well, there is my story, at any rate,” Francis
declared. “ With how much of your knowledge of
the affair are you going to indulge me?"
Sir Timothy slowly revolved his brandy glass.
“Well,” he said, “I will tell you this. The two
young men concerned, Bidlake and Fairfax, were
both guests of mine recently at my country house.
They had discovered for one another a very fierce and
reasonable antipathy. With that recurrence to
primitivism with which I have always been a hearty
sympathiser, they agreed, instead of going round
their little world making sneering remarks about each
other, to fight it out."
“At your suggestion, I presume? ” Francis inter-
posed.


98
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
sall.
“Precisely," Sir Timothy assented. “I recom-
mended that course, and I offered them facilities for
bringing the matter to a crisis. The fight, indeed,
was to have come off the day after the unfortunate
episode which anticipated it.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you knew --"
Francis began.
Sir Timothy checked him quietly but effectively.
“I knew nothing," he said, “except this. They
were neither of them young men of much stomach,
and I knew that the one who was the greater coward
would probably try to anticipate the matter by at-
tacking the other first if he could. I knew that Fair-
fax was the greater coward — not that there was
much to choose between them — and I also knew that
he was the injured person. That is really all there
is about it. My somewhat theatrical statement to
you was based upon probability, and not upon
any certain foreknowledge. As you see, it came
off.”
“ And the cause of their quarrel ? ” Francis asked.
“ There might have been a hundred reasons,” Sir
Timothy observed. “As a matter of fact, it was the
eternal one. There is no need to mention a woman's
name, so we will let it go at that.”
There was a moment's silence -- a strange, unfor-
gettable moment for Francis Ledsam, who seemed by
some curious trick of the imagination to have been
carried away into an impossible and grotesque world.
The hum of eager conversation, the popping of corks,
the little trills of feminine laughter, all blended into
one sensual and not unmusical chorus, seemed to fade
from his ears. He fancied himself in some subter-


100
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
his mind. Sir Timothy scrawled his name at the foot
of his bill.
“ It is one of my axioms in life, Mr. Ledsam,” he
continued, “ that there is more pleasure to be derived
from the society of one's enemies than one's friends.
If I thought you sufficiently educated in the outside
ways of the world to appreciate this, I would ask if
you cared to accompany me?”
Francis did not hesitate for a moment.
“ Sir Timothy,” he said, “ I have the greatest de-
testation for you, and I am firmly convinced that you
represent all the things in life abhorrent to me. On
the other hand, I should very much like to hear the
last act of ‘Louise,' and it would give me the greatest
pleasure to meet your daughter. So long as there
is no misunderstanding - "
Sir Timothy laughed.
“ Come,” he said, “ we will get our hats. I am be-
coming more and more grateful to you, Mr. Ledsam.
You are supplying something in my life which I have
lacked. You appeal alike to my sense of humour and
my imagination. We will visit the opera together.”


CHAPTER XV
THE two men left Soto's together, very much in
the fashion of two ordinary acquaintances sallying
out to spend the evening together. Sir Timothy's
Rolls-Royce limousine was in attendance, and in a
few minutes they were threading the purlieus of Co-
vent Garden. It was here that an incident occurred
which afforded Francis considerable food for thought
during the next few days.
It was a Friday night, and one or two waggons
laden with vegetable produce were already threading
their way through the difficult thoroughfares. Sud-
denly Sir Timothy, who was looking out of the win-
dow, pressed the button of the car, which was at once
brought to a standstill. Before the footman could
reach the door Sir Timothy was out in the street.
For the first time Francis saw him angry. His eyes
were blazing. His voice — Francis had followed him
at once into the street — shook with passion. His
hand had fallen heavily upon the shoulder of a huge
carter, who, with whip in hand, was belabouring a
thin scarecrow of a horse.
“What the devil are you doing?” Sir Timothy
demanded.
The man stared at his questioner, and the instinc-
tive antagonism of race vibrated in his truculent
reply. The carter was a beery-faced, untidy-looking
brute, but powerfully built and with huge shoulders.
Sir Timothy, straight as a dart, without overcoat or


102
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
any covering to his thin evening clothes, looked like a
stripling in front of him.
“ I'm whippin' 'er, if yer want to know," was the
carter's reply. “ I've got to get up the 'ill, ’aven't
I? Garn and mind yer own business!”
“ This is my business," Sir Timothy declared, lay-
ing his hand upon the neck of the horse. “I am an
official of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals. You are laying yourself open to a fine
for your treatment of this poor brute.”
“ I'll lay myself open for a fine for the treatment
of something else, if you don't quid 'old of my 'oss,"
the carter retorted, throwing his whip back into the
waggon and coming a step nearer. “ D’yer 'ear? I
don't want any swells interferin' with my business.
You ’op it. Is that strite enough? 'Op it, quick!”
Sir Timothy's anger seemed to have abated.
There was even the beginning of a smile upon his lips.
All the time his hand caressed the neck of the horse.
Francis noticed with amazement that the poor brute
had raised his head and seemed to be making some
faint effort at reciprocation.
“My good man," Sir Timothy said, " you seem to
be one of those brutal persons unfit to be trusted with
an animal. However —_"
The carter had heard quite enough. Sir Timo-
thy's tone seemed to madden him. He clenched his
fist and rushed in.
“ You take that for interferin', you big toff!” he
shouted.
The result of the man's effort at pugilism was al-
most ridiculous. His arms appeared to go round
like windmills beating the air. It really seemed as


104
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
The second man sprang from his seat and came
round.
“ Unharness that mare,” his master ordered, “ help
the man push his trolley back out of the way, then
lead the animal to the mews in Curzon Street. See
that she is well bedded down and has a good feed of
corn. To-morrow I shall send her down to the coun-
try, but I will come and have a look at her first."
The man touched his hat and hastened to com-
mence his task. The carter, who had been busy
counting the notes, thrust them into his pocket with
a grin.
“Good luck to yer, guvnor!” he shouted out, in
valedictory fashion. “'Ope I meets yer again when
I've an old crock on the go.”
Sir Timothy turned his head.
“ If ever I happen to meet you, my good man,” he
threatened, “ using your whip upon a poor beast
who's doing his best, I promise you you won't get up
in two minutes, or twenty. ... We might walk
the last few yards, Mr. Ledsam.”
The latter acquiesced at once, and in a moment or
two they were underneath the portico of the Opera
House. Sir Timothy had begun to talk about the
opera but Francis was a little distrait. His com-
panion glanced at him curiously.
“You are puzzled, Mr. Ledsam? " he remarked.
“ Very,” was the prompt response.
Sir Timothy smiled.
“ You are one of these primitive Anglo-Saxons,"
he said," who can see the simple things with big eyes,
but who are terribly worried at an unfamiliar con-
stituent. You have summed me up in your mind as


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
105
a hardened brute, a criminal by predilection, a pa-
tron of murderers. Ergo, you ask yourself why
should I trouble to save a poor beast of a horse from
being chastised, and go out of my way to provide her
with a safe asylum for the rest of her life? Shall I
help you, Mr. Ledsam?”
“ I wish you would,” Francis confessed.
They had passed now through the entrance to the
Opera House and were in the corridor leading to the
grand tier boxes. On every side Sir Timothy had
been received with marks of deep respect. Two bow-
ing attendants were preceding them. Sir Timothy
leaned towards his companion.
“ Because,” he whispered, “I like animals better
than human beings."
Margaret Hilditch, her chair pushed back into the
recesses of the box, scarcely turned her head at her
father's entrance.
“I have brought an acquaintance of yours, Mar-
garet," the latter announced, as he hung up his hat.
“ You remember Mr. Ledsam?”
Francis drew a little breath of relief as he bowed
over her hand. For the second time her inordinate
composure had been assailed. She was her usual
calm and indifferent self almost immediately, but the
gleam of surprise, and he fancied not unpleasant sur-
prise, had been unmistakable.
“ Are you a devotee, Mr. Ledsam? ” she asked.
“I am fond of music," Francis answered, “ espe-
cially this opera."
She motioned to the chair in the front of the box,
facing the stage.


108
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ Your father goes far afield for his friends,"
Francis remarked.
“My father has no friends," she replied. “He
has many acquaintances. I doubt whether he has a
single confidant. I expect Cynthia is trying to per-
suade him to invite her to his next party at The
Walled House."
“I should think she would fail, won't she?” he
asked.
“ Why should you think that?”
Francis shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“ Your father's entertainments have the reputa-
tion of being somewhat unique,” he remarked. “You
do not, by-the-bye, attend them yourself.”
“You must remember that I have had very few
opportunities so far," she observed. “Besides, Cyn-
thia has tastes which I do not share."
“ As, for instance?”
“ She goes to the National Sporting Club. She
once travelled, I know, over a hundred miles to go to
a bull fight.”
“On the whole,” Francis said, “I am glad that
you do not share her tastes."
“You know her?” Margaret enquired.
“ Indifferently well,” Francis replied. “I knew
her when she was a child, and we seem to come to-
gether every now and then at long intervals. As a
débutante she was charming. Lately it seems to me
that she has got into the wrong set.”
“ What do you call the wrong set?”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Please don't think that I am laying down the
law,” he said. “I have been out so little, the last


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 109
few years, that I ought not, perhaps, to criticise.
Lady Cynthia, however, seems to me to belong to the
extreme section of the younger generation, the section
who have a sort of craze for the unusual, whose taste
in art and living is distorted and bizarre. You know
what I mean, don't you — black drawing-rooms, fu-
turist wall-papers, opium dens and a cocaine box!
It's to some extent affectation, of course, but it's a
folly that claims its victims.”
She studied him for a moment attentively. His
leanness was the leanness of muscular strength and
condition, his face was full of vigour and determina-
tion.
“ You at least have escaped the abnormal,” she
remarked. “I am not quite sure how the entertain-
ments at The Walled House would appeal to you, but
if my father should invite you there, I should advise
you not to go.”
“Why not?” he asked.
She hesitated for a moment.
“I really don't know why I should trouble to give
you advice,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I don't
care whether you go or not. In any case, you are
scarcely likely to be asked.”
“I am not sure that I agree with you," he pro-
tested. “ Your father seems to have taken quite a
fancy to me.”
" And you?" she murmured.
“ Well, I like the way he bought that horse,"
Francis admitted. “And I am beginning to realise
that there may be something in the theory which he
advanced when he invited me to accompany him here
this evening — that there is a certain piquancy in


110 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
one's intercourse with an enemy, which friendship
lacks. There may be complexities in his character
which as yet I have not appreciated.”
The curtain had gone up and the last act of the
opera had commenced. She leaned back in her chair.
Without a word or even a gesture, he understood
that a curtain had been let down between them. He
obeyed her unspoken wish and relapsed into silence.
Her very absorption, after all, was a hopeful sign.
She would have him believe that she felt nothing, that
she was living outside all the passion and sentiment of
life. Yet she was absorbed in the music. ... Sir
Timothy came back and seated himself silently. It
was not until the tumult of applause which broke out
after the great song of the French ouvrier, that a
word passed between them.
“ Cavalisti is better," Sir Timothy commented.
“ This man has not the breadth of passion. At
times he is merely peevish.”
She shook her head.
“ Cavalisti would be too egotistical for the part,"
she said quietly. “It is difficult.”
Not another word was spoken until the curtain fell.
Francis lingered for a moment over the arrangement
of her cloak. Sir Timothy was already outside, talk-
ing to some acquaintances.
“ It has been a great pleasure to see you like this
unexpectedly," he said, a little wistfully.
“I cannot imagine why," she answered, with an
undernote of trouble in her tone. “Remember the
advice I gave you before. No good can come of any
friendship between my father and you."
“There is this much of good in it, at any rate,”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 111
he answered, as he held open the door for her.
“ It might give me the chance of seeing you some-
times.”
“ That is not a matter worth considering,” she
replied.
“ I find it very much worth considering,” he whis-
pered, losing his head for a moment as they stood
close together in the dim light of the box, and a sud-
den sense of the sweetness of her thrilled his pulses.
“ There isn't anything in the world I want so much
as to see you oftener — to have my chance."
There was a momentary glow in her eyes. Her
lips quivered. The few words which he saw framed
there — he fancied of reproof — remained unspoken.
Sir Timothy was waiting for them at the entrance.
“I have been asking Mrs. Hilditch's permission to
call in Curzon Street,” Francis said boldly.
“I am sure my daughter will be delighted," was
the cold but courteous reply.
Margaret herself made no comment. The car
drew up and she stepped into it - a tall, slim figure,
wonderfully graceful in her unrelieved black, her hair
gleaming as though with some sort of burnish, as she
passed underneath the electric light. She looked
back at him with a smile of farewell as he stood bare-
headed upon the steps, a smile which reminded him
somehow of her father, a little sardonic, a little ten-
der, having in it some faintly challenging quality.
The car rolled away. People around were gossiping
rather freely.
“ The wife of that man Oliver Hilditch," he heard
a woman say, “ the man who was tried for murder
and committed suicide the night after his acquittal.


112
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
Why, that can't be much more than three months
ago.”
“ If you are the daughter of a millionaire,” her es-
cort observed, “ you can defy convention.”
“ Yes, that was Sir Timothy Brast,” another man
was saying. “ He's supposed to be worth a cool five
millions.”
“If the truth about him were known,” his com-
panion confided, dropping his voice, “it would cost
him all that to keep out of the Old Bailey. They say
that his orgies at Hatch End — Our taxi. Come
on, Sharpe."
Francis strolled thoughtfully homewards.


CHAPTER XVI
FRANCIS LEDSAM was himself again, the lightest-
hearted and most popular member of his club, still a
brilliant figure in the courts, although his appear-
ances there were less frequent, still devoting the
greater portion of his time to his profession, al-
though his work in connection with it had become less
spectacular. One morning, at the corner of Clarges
Street and Curzon Street, about three weeks after his
visit to the Opera, he came face to face with Sir
Timothy Brast.
“Well, my altruistic peerer into other people's
affairs, how goes it? " the latter enquired pleasantly.
“How does it seem, my arch-criminal, to be still
breathing God's fresh air? ” Francis retorted in the
same vein. “Make the most of it. It may not last
for ever.”
Sir Timothy smiled. He was looking exceedingly
well that morning, the very prototype of a man con-
tented with life and his part in it. He was wearing a
morning coat and silk hat, his patent boots were
faultlessly polished, his trousers pressed to perfec-
tion, his grey silk tie neat and fashionable. Not-
withstanding his waxenlike pallor, his slim figure and
lithe, athletic walk seemed to speak of good health.
“You may catch the minnow,” he murmured.
“ The big fish swim on. By-the-bye,” he added, “I
do not notice that your sledge-hammer blows at crime
are having much effect. Two undetected murders


114
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
last week, and one the week before. What are you
about, my astute friend?”
“ Those are matters for Scotland Yard,” Francis
replied, with an indifferent little wave of the hand
which held his cigarette. “ Details are for the pro-
fessional. I seek that corner in Hell where the thun-
ders are welded and the poison gases mixed. In other
words, I seek for the brains of crime.”
“ Believe me, we do not see enough of one another,
my young friend," Sir Timothy said earnestly.
“ You interest me more and more every time we meet.
I like your allegories, I like your confidence, which
in any one except a genius would seem blatant.
When can we dine together and talk about crime?"
“The sooner the better,” Francis replied promptly.
“ Invite me, and I will cancel any other engagement I
might happen to have.”
Sir Timothy considered for a moment. The June
sunshine was streaming down upon them and the at-
mosphere was a little oppressive.
“ Will you dine with me at Hatch End to-night? "
he asked. “My daughter and I will be alone.”
“I should be delighted,” Francis replied promptly.
“I ought to tell you, perhaps, that I have called
three times upon your daughter but have not been
fortunate enough to find her at home.”
Sir Timothy was politely apologetic.
“I fear that my daughter is a little inclined to be
morbid,” he confessed. “ Society is good for her. I
will undertake that you are a welcome guest.”
“ At what time do I come and how shall I find your
house? ” Francis enquired.
“ You motor down, I suppose? ” Sir Timothy ob-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
117
:
“ Then what,” Francis asked, “has become of
him?"
The clerk shook his head.
“ I haven't any idea, sir,” he confessed.
Francis plunged into his work and forgot all about
the matter. He was reminded of it, however, at
luncheon-time, when, on entering the dining-room of
the club, he saw Andrew Wilmore seated alone at one
of the small tables near the wall. He went over to
him at once.
“ Hullo, Andrew," he greeted him, “ what are you
doing here by yourself? "
“ Bit hipped, old fellow," was the depressed reply.
“ Sit down, will you?”
Francis sat down and ordered his lunch.
“By-the-bye,” he said, “I had rather a myste-
rious visit this morning from your brother Reggie.”
Wilmore stared at him for a moment, half in relief,
half in amazement.
“Good God, Francis, you don't say so!” he ex-
claimed. “How was he? What did he want? Tell
me about it at once? We've been worried to death
about the boy."
“ Well, as a matter of fact, I didn't see him,”
Francis explained. “He arrived before I reached
my rooms — as you know, I don't live there — waited
some time, began to write me this note," — drawing
the sheet of paper from his pocket — “and when I
got there had disappeared without leaving a message
or anything.”
Wilmore adjusted his pince nez with trembling fin-
gers. Then he read the few lines through.
“Francis,” he said, when he had finished them,


118
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ do you know that this is the first word we've heard
of him for three days? ”
“Great heavens!” Francis exclaimed. “He was
living with his mother, wasn't he?”
“ Down at Kensington, but he hasn't been there
since Monday,” Andrew replied. “His mother is in
a terrible state. And now this, I don't understand it
at all.”
“ Was the boy hard up?"
“Not more than most young fellows are,” was the
puzzled reply. “ His allowance was due in a few
days, too. He had money in the bank, I feel sure.
He was saving up for a motor-car.”
“ Haven't I seen him once or twice at restaurants
lately? ” Francis enquired. “Soto's, for instance? "
“ Very likely,” his brother assented. “Why not?
He's fond of dancing, and we none of us ever encour-
aged him to be a stay-at-home.”
“ Any particular girl was he interested in?"
“Not that we know of. Like most young fellows
of his age, he was rather keen on young women with
some connection with the stage, but I don't believe
there was any one in particular. Reggie was too
fond of games to waste much time that way. He's
at the gymnasium three evenings a week.”
“I wish I'd been at the office a few minutes earlier
this morning," Francis observed. “I tell you what,
Andrew. I have some pals down at Scotland Yard,
and I'll go down and see them this afternoon.
They'll want a photograph, and to ask a few ques-
tions, I dare say, but I shouldn't talk about the
matter too much.”
“You're very kind, Francis,” his friend replied,


120
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
an involuntary one,” Francis remarked. “What
was his usual programme when he left the office? "
“ He either went to Queen's and played racquets,
or he went straight to his gymnasium in the Holborn.
I telephoned to Queen's. He didn't call there on the
Wednesday night, anyhow.”
“Where's the gymnasium?”.
“At 147 a Holborn. A lot of city young men go
there late in the evening, but Reggie got off earlier
than most of them and used to have the place pretty
well to himself. I think that's why he stuck to it."
Francis made a note of the address.
“I'll get Shopland to step down there some time,"
he said. “Or better still, finish your lunch and we'll
take a taxi there ourselves. I'm going to the coun-
try later on, but I've half-an-hour to spare. We
can go without our coffee and be there in ten min-
utes.”
“A great idea,” Wilmore acquiesced. “It's prob-
ably the last place Reggie visited, anyway."


CHAPTER XVII
THE gymnasium itself was a source of immense
surprise to both Francis and Wilmore. It stretched
along the entire top storey of a long block of build-
ings, and was elaborately fitted with bathrooms, a
restaurant and a reading-room. The trapezes, bars,
and all the usual appointments were of the best pos-
sible quality. The manager, a powerful-looking man
dressed with the precision of the prosperous city
magnate, came out of his office to greet them.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he enquired.
“ First of all,” Francis replied, “ accept our heart-
iest congratulations upon your wonderful gymna-
sium."
The man bowed.
“ It is the best appointed in the country, sir," he
said proudly. “ Absolutely no expense has been
spared in fitting it up. Every one of our appliances
is of the latest possible description, and our bath-
rooms are an exact copy of those in a famous Phila-
delphia club.”
“What is the subscription?" Wilmore asked.
“ Five shillings a year.”
“ And how many members? "
“ Two thousand.”
The manager smiled as he saw his two visitors ex-
change puzzled glances.


122
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“Needless to say, sir,” he added, " we are not self-
supporting. We have very generous patrons."
“I have heard my brother speak of this place as
being quite wonderful,” Wilmore remarked, “but I
had no idea that it was upon this scale."
“ Is your brother a member? " the man asked.
“He is. To tell you the truth, we came here to
ask you a question about him.”
“ What is his name? "
“ Reginald Wilmore. He was here, I think, last
Wednesday night."
While Wilmore talked, Francis watched. He was
conscious of a curious change in the man's deport-
ment at the mention of Reginald Wilmore's name.
From being full of bumptious, almost condescending
good-nature, his expression had changed into one of
stony incivility. There was something almost sinis-
ter in the tightly-closed lips and the suspicious gleam
in his eyes.
“What questions did you wish to ask? ” he de-
manded.
“Mr. Reginald Wilmore has disappeared,” Fran-
cis explained simply. “He came here on leaving the
office last Monday. He has not been seen or heard
of since.”
“ Well?” the manager asked.
“ We came to ask whether you happen to remem-
ber his being here on that evening, and whether he
gave any one here any indication of his future move-
ments. We thought, perhaps, that the instructor
who was with him might have some information."
“Not a chance," was the uncompromising reply.
“I remember Mr. Wilmore being here perfectly. He


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
123
was doing double turns on the high bar. I saw more
of him myself than any one. I was with him when he
went down to have his swim.”
“Did he seem in his usual spirits? " Wilmore ven-
tured.
“ I don't notice what spirits my pupils are in,” the
man answered, a little insolently. “There was noth-
ing the matter with him so far as I know.”
“He didn't say anything about going away?"
“Not a word. You'll excuse me, gentlemen — "
“ One moment,” Francis interrupted. “We came
here ourselves sooner than send a detective. En-
quiries are bound to be made as to the young man's
disappearance, and we have reason to know that this
is the last place at which he was heard of. It is not
unreasonable, therefore, is it, that we should come to
you for information?"
“Reasonable or unreasonable, I haven't got any,"
the man declared gruffly. “ If Mr. Wilmore's cleared
out, he's cleared out for some reason of his own. It's
not my business and I don't know anything about it.”
“You understand,” Francis persisted, “ that our
interest in young Mr. Wilmore is entirely a friendly
one?”
“I don't care whether it's friendly or unfriendly.
I tell you I don't know anything about him. And," ,
he added, pressing his thumb upon the button for the
lift, “ I'll wish you two gentlemen good afternoon.
I've business to attend to."
Francis looked at him curiously.
“ Haven't I seen you somewhere before? ” he asked,
a little abruptly.
“I can't say. My name is John Maclane."


124 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“Heavy-weight champion about seven years ago?”
“I was,” the man acknowledged. “You may have
seen me in the ring. Now, gentlemen, if you please.”
The lift had stopped opposite to them. The man-
ager's gesture of dismissal was final.
“I am sorry, Mr. Maclane, if we have annoyed you
with our questions," Francis said. “I wish you
could remember a little more of Mr. Wilmore's last
visit.”
“Well, I can't, and that's all there is to it,” was
the blunt reply. “As to being annoyed, I am only
annoyed when my time’s wasted. Take these gents
down, Jim. Good afternoon!”
The door was slammed to and they shot down-
wards. Francis turned to the lift man.
“Do you know a Mr. Wilmore who comes here
sometimes?” he asked.
“Not likely!” the man scoffed." They're comin'
and goin' all the time from four o'clock in the after-
noon till eleven at night. If I heard a name I
shouldn't remember it. This way out, gentlemen.”
Wilmore's hand was in his pocket but the man
turned deliberately away. They walked out into the
street.
“ For downright incivility,” the former observed,
“commend me to the attendants of a young men's
gymnasium!”
Francis smiled.
“All the same, old fellow,” he said, “ if you worry
for another five minutes about Reggie, you're an
ass."
At six o'clock that evening Francis turned his


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
125
two-seater into a winding drive bordered with rhodo-
dendrons, and pulled up before the porch of a charm-
ing two-storied bungalow, covered with creepers, and
with French-windows opening from every room on to
the lawns. A man-servant who had heard the ap-
proach of the car was already standing in the porch.
Sir Timothy, in white flannels and a panama hat,
strolled across the lawn to greet his approaching
guest.
“ Excellently timed, my young friend,” he said.
“ You will have time for your first cocktail before
you change. My daughter you know, of course.
Lady Cynthia Milton I think you also know.”
Francis shook hands with the two girls who were
lying under the cedar tree. Margaret Hilditch
seemed to him more wonderful than ever in her white
serge boating clothes. Lady Cynthia, who had ap-
parently just arrived from some function in town,
was still wearing muslin and a large hat.
“I am always afraid that Mr. Ledsam will have
forgotten me," she observed, as she gave him her
hand. “ The last time I met you was at the Old
Bailey, when you had been cheating the gallows of a
very respectable wife murderer. Poynings, I think
his name was.”
“I remember it perfectly,” Francis assented.
“We danced together that night, I remember, at
your aunt's, Mrs. Malcolm's, and you were intensely
curious to know how Poynings had spent his even-
ing."
“Lady Cynthia's reminder is perhaps a little un-
fortunate,” Sir Timothy observed. 6 Mr. Ledsam is
no longer the last hope of the enterprising criminal.


126
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
He has turned over a new leaf. To secure the serv-
ices of his silver tongue, you have to lay at his feet
no longer the bags of gold from your ill-gotten gains
but the white flower of the blameless life.”
“ This is all in the worst possible taste,” Margaret
Hilditch declared, in her cold, expressionless tone.
“ You might consider my feelings."
Lady Cynthia only laughed.
“My dear Margaret,” she said, “if I thought
that you had any, I should never believe that you
were your father's daughter. Here's to them, any-
way,” she added, accepting the cocktail from the
tray which the butler had just brought out. “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 im-
pression.”
“ Try her with a punt and a concertina after din-
ner,” Lady Cynthia suggested. “After all, I came
down here to better my acquaintance with my host.
You flirted with me disgracefully when I was a dé-
butante, and have never taken any notice of me since.
I hate infidelity in a man. Sir Timothy, I shall de-
vote myself to you. Can you play a concertina? ” .
" Where the higher forms of music are concerned,”
he replied, “I have no technical ability. I should
prefer to sit at your feet."
“ While I punt, I suppose? "
“There are backwaters,” he suggested.
Lady Cynthia sipped her cocktail appreciatively.
“ I wonder how it is,” she observed, “ that in these
days, although we have become callous to everything


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
127
else in life, cocktails and flirtations still attract us.
You shall take me to a backwater after dinner, Sir
Timothy. I shall wear my silver-grey and take an
armful of those black cushions from the drawing-
room. In that half light, there is no telling what
success I may not achieve.”
Sir Timothy sighed.
“Alas!” he said, “ before dinner is over you will
probably have changed your mind.”
“ Perhaps so," she admitted, “but you must re-
· member that Mr. Ledsam is my only alternative, and
I am not at all sure that he likes me. I am not
sufficiently Victorian for his taste.”
The dressing-bell rang. Sir Timothy passed his
arm through Francis'.
“ The sentimental side of my domain,” he said,
“ the others may show you. My rose garden across
the stream has been very much admired. I am now
going to give you a glimpse of The Walled House,
an edifice the possession of which has made me more
or less famous.”
He led the way through a little shrubbery, across
a further strip of garden and through a door in a
high wall, which he opened with a key attached to
his watch-chain. They were in an open park now,
studded with magnificent trees, in the further corner
of which stood an imposing mansion, with a great
domed roof in the centre, and broad stone terraces,
one of which led down to the river. The house itself
was an amazingly blended mixture of old and new,
with great wings supported by pillars thrown out on
either side. It seemed to have been built without re-
gard to any definite period of architecture, and yet


128
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
to have attained a certain coherency - a far-reach-
ing structure, with long lines of outbuildings. In the
park itself were a score or more of horses, and in the
distance beyond a long line of loose boxes with open
doors. Even as they stood there, a grey sorrel mare
had trotted up to their side and laid her head against
Sir Timothy's shoulder. He caressed her surrepti-
tiously, affecting not to notice the approach of other
animals from all quarters.
“Let me introduce you to The Walled House,”
its owner observed," so called, I imagine, because this
wall, which is a great deal older than you or I, com-
pletely encloses the estate. Of course, you remember
the old house, The Walled Palace, they called it? It
belonged for many years to the Lynton family, and
afterwards to the Crown.”
“I remember reading of your purchase,” Francis
said, “ and of course I remember the old mansion.
You seem to have wiped it out pretty effectually.”
“I was obliged to play the vandal,” his host con-
fessed. “ In its previous state, the house was pic-
turesque but uninhabitable. As you see it now, it is
an exact reproduction of the country home of one
of the lesser known of the Borgias – Sodina, I be-
lieve the lady's name was. You will find inside some
beautiful arches, and a sense of space which all
modern houses lack. It cost me a great deal of
money, and it is inhabited, when I am in Europe,
about once a fortnight. You know the river name
for it? “Timothy's Folly!'"
“But what on earth made you build it, so long as
you don't care to live there?" Francis enquired.
Sir Timothy smiled reflectively.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
129
“Well,” he explained, “I like sometimes to enter-
tain, and I like to entertain, when I do, on a grand
scale. In London, if I give a party, the invitations
are almost automatic. I become there a very insig-
nificant link in the chain of what is known as Society,
and Society practically helps itself to my entertain-
ment, and sees that everything is done according to
rule. Down here things are entirely different. An
invitation to The Walled House is a personal mat-
ter. Society has nothing whatever to do with my
functions here. The reception-rooms, too, are ar-
ranged according to my own ideas. I have, as you
may have heard, the finest private gymnasium in
England. The ballroom and music-room and private
theatre, too, are famous."
“ And do you mean to say that you keep that
huge place empty?” Francis asked curiously.
“ I have a suite of rooms there which I occasionally
occupy," Sir Timothy replied, " and there are always
thirty or forty servants and attendants of different
sorts who have their quarters there. I suppose that
my daughter and I would be there at the present
moment but for the fact that we own this cottage.
Both she and I, for residential purposes, prefer the
atmosphere there.”
“ I scarcely wonder at it,” Francis agreed.
They were surrounded now by various quadrupeds.
As well as the horses, half-a-dozen of which were
standing patiently by Sir Timothy's side, several
dogs had made their appearance and after a little
preliminary enthusiasm had settled down at his feet.
He leaned over and whispered something in the ear
of the mare who had come first. She trotted off, and


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
131
houses for your poor dependants, I wonder how
many of them would be anxious to mow your lawn.
... Come, let me show you your room now.”
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 beau-
ties which only those who live with it can discover.
Mind your head. My ceilings are low.” i
Francis followed his host along many passages,
up and down stairs, until he reached a little suite
of rooms at the extreme end of the building. The
man-servant who had unpacked his bag stood wait-
ing. Sir Timothy glanced around critically.
“ Small but compact,” he remarked. “There is
a little sitting-room down that stair, and a bath-
room beyond. If the flowers annoy you, throw them
out of the window. And if you prefer to bathe in
the river to-morrow morning, Brooks here will show
you the diving pool. I am wearing a short coat my-
self to-night, but do as you please. We dine at half-
past eight.”
Sir Timothy disappeared with a courteous little
inclination of the head. Francis dismissed the man-
servant at once as being out of keeping with his
quaint and fascinating surroundings. The tiny
room with its flowers, its perfume of lavender, its
old-fashioned chintzes, and its fragrant linen, might
still have been a room in a cottage. The sitting-
room, with its veranda looking down upon the river,
was provided with cigars, whisky and soda and


132
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
cigarettes ; a bookcase, with a rare copy of Rabelais,
an original Surtees, a large paper Decameron, and a
few other classics. Down another couple of steps
was a perfectly white bathroom, with shower and
plunge. Francis wandered from room to room, and
finally threw himself into a chair on the veranda to
smoke a cigarette. From the river below him came
now and then the sound of voices. Through the
trees on his right he could catch a glimpse, here and
there, of the strange pillars and green domed roof of
the Borghese villa.


CHAPTER XVIII
It was one of those faultless June evenings when
the only mission of the faintly stirring breeze seems
to be to carry perfumes from garden to garden and
to make the lightest of music amongst the rustling
leaves. The dinner-table had been set out of doors,
underneath the odorous cedar-tree. Above, the sky
was an arc of the deepest blue through which the
web of stars had scarcely yet found its way.
Every now and then came the sound of the splash
of oars from the river; more rarely still, the murmur
of light voices as a punt passed up the stream. The
little party at The Sanctuary sat over their coffee
and liqueurs long after the fall of the first twilight,
till the points of their cigarettes glowed like little
specks of fire through the enveloping darkness. Con-
versation had been from the first curiously desultory,
edited, in a way, Francis felt, for his benefit. There
was an atmosphere about his host and Lady Cynthia,
shared in a negative way by Margaret Hilditch,
which baffled Francis. It seemed to establish more
than a lack of sympathy — to suggest, even, a life
lived upon a different plane. Yet every now and
then their references to everyday happenings were
trite enough. Sir Timothy had assailed the recent
craze for drugs, a dîatribe to which Lady Cynthia
had listened in silence for reasons which Francis
could surmise.


134 . THE EVIL SHE
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“If one must soothe the senses,” Sir Timothy
declared, “ for the purpose of forgetting a distaste-
ful or painful present, I cannot see why the average
mind does not turn to the contemplation of beauty
in some shape or other. A night like to-night is
surely sedative enough. Watch these lights, drink
in these perfumes, listen to the fall and flow of the
water long enough, and you would arrive at precisely
the same mental inertia as though you had taken a
dose of cocaine, with far less harmful an aftermath."
Lady Cynthia shrugged her shoulders.
“ Cocaine is in one's dressing-room,” she objected,
“ and beauty is hard to seek in Grosvenor Square.”
“ The common mistake of all men,” Sir Timothy
continued, “and women, too, for the matter of that,
is that we will persist in formulating doctrines for
other people. Every man or woman is an entity of
humanity, with a separate heaven and a separate
hell. No two people can breathe the same air in the
same way, or see the same picture with the same
eyes.”
Lady Cynthia rose to her feet and shook out the
folds of her diaphanous gown, daring alike in its
shapelessness and scantiness. She lit a cigarette
and laid her hand upon Sir Timothy's arm.
“ Come," she said, “must I remind you of your
promise? You are to show me the stables at The
Walled House before it is dark.”
“ You would see them better in the morning," he
reminded her, rising with some reluctance to his feet.
“ Perhaps," she answered, “but I have a fancy to
see them now.”
Sir Timothy looked back at the table.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
135
“ Margaret," he said, “ will you look after Mr.
Ledsam for a little time? You will excuse us, Led-
sam? We shall not be gone long."
They moved away together towards the shrubbery
and the door in the wall behind. Francis resumed
his seat.
“ Are you not also curious to penetrate the
mysteries behind the wall, Mr. Ledsam? ” Margaret
asked.
“ Not so curious but that I would much prefer
to remain here,” he answered.
“ With me? "
“With you."
She knocked the ash from her cigarette. She was
looking directly at him, and he fancied that there
was a gleam of curiosity in her beautiful eyes. There
was certainly a little more abandon about her atti-
tude. She was leaning back in a corner of her high-
backed chair, and her gown, although it lacked the
daring of Lady Cynthia's, seemed to rest about her
like a cloud of blue-grey smoke.
“What a curious meal!” she murmured. “ Can
you solve a puzzle for me, Mr. Ledsam?”
“ I would do anything for you that I could,” he
answered.
“Tell me, then, why my father asked you here
to-night? I can understand his bringing you to the
opera, that was just a whim of the moment, but an
invitation down here savours of deliberation.
Studiously polite though you are to one another, one
is conscious all the time of the hostility beneath the
surface.”
“I think that so far as your father is concerned,


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
137
let geraniums and drooping lilac shrubs in the back-
ground, seemed like a scene from fairyland, to attain
a perfection of detail unreal, almost theatrical.
“To the right when you reach the river, please,”
she directed. “You will find there is scarcely any
current. We turn up the next stream."
There was something almost mysterious, a little
impressive, about the broad expanse of river into
which they presently turned. Opposite were woods
and then a sloping lawn. From a house hidden in
the distance they heard the sound of a woman sing-
ing. They even caught the murmurs of applause
as she concluded. Then there was silence, only the
soft gurgling of the water cloven by the punt pole.
They glided past the front of the great unlit house,
past another strip of woodland, and then up a nar-
row stream.
“ To the left here," she directed, " and then stop."
They bumped against the bank. The little back-
water into which they had turned seemed to termi-
nate in a bed of lilies whose faint fragrance almost
enveloped them. The trees on either side made a
little arch of darkness.
“Please ship your pole and listen,” Margaret said
dreamily. “ Make yourself as comfortable as you
can. There are plenty of cushions behind you. This
is where I come for silence.”
Francis obeyed her orders without remark. For
a few moments, speech seemed impossible. The dark-
ness was so intense that although he was acutely
conscious of her presence there, only a few feet away,
nothing but the barest outline of her form was visible.
The silence which she had brought him to seek was


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
139
in his blood, the joy of her faint caress living proudly
in his memory. It had been the moment of his life,
and yet even now he felt sick at heart with fears,
with the torment of her passiveness. She had lain
there in his arms, he had felt the thrill of her body,
some quaint inspiration had told him that she had
sought for joy in that moment and had not wholly
failed. Yet his anxiety was tumultuous, over-
whelming. Then she spoke, and his heart leaped
again. Her voice was more natural. It was not a
voice which he had ever heard before.
“Give me a cigarette, please — and I want to go
back.”
He leaned over her again, struck a match with
trembling fingers and gave her the cigarette. She
smiled at him very faintly.
“ Please go back now,” she begged. “ Smoke your-
self, take me home slowly and say nothing.”
He obeyed, but his knees were shaking when he
stood up. Slowly, a foot at a time, they passed
from the mesh of the lilies out into the broad stream.
Almost as they did so, the yellow rim of the moon
came up over the low hills. As they turned into
their own stream, the light was strong enough for
him to see her face. She lay there like a ghost, her
eyes half closed, the only touch of colour in the
shining strands of her beautiful hair. She roused
herself a little as they swung around. He paused,
leaning upon the pole.
“ You are not angry?” he asked.
“No, I am not angry,” she answered. “Why
should I be? But I cannot talk to you about it to-
night.”


140 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
They glided to the edge of the landing-stage. A
servant appeared and secured the punt.
“Is Sir Timothy back yet?” Margaret enquired.
“ Not yet, madam.”
She turned to Francis.
“Please go and have a whisky and soda in the
smoking-room,” she said, pointing to the open
French windows. “I am going to my favourite seat.
You will find me just across the bridge there."
He hesitated, filled with a passionate disinclina-
tion to leave her side even for a moment. She seemed
to understand but she pointed once more to the
room.
“I should like very much,” she added, “ to be
alone for five minutes. If you will come and find me
then — please!”
Francis stepped through the French windows into
the smoking-room, where all the paraphernalia for
satisfying thirst were set out upon the sideboard.
He helped himself to whisky and soda and drank it
absently, with his eyes fixed upon the clock. In five
minutes he stepped once more back into the gardens,
soft and brilliant now in the moonlight. As he did
:50, he heard the click of the gate in the wall, and
footsteps. His host, with Lady Cynthia upon his
arm, came into sight and crossed the lawn towards
him. Francis, filled though his mind was with other
thoughts, paused for a moment and glanced towards
them curiously. Lady Cynthia seemed for a moment
to have lost all her weariness. Her eyes were very
bright, she walked with a new spring in her move-
ments. Even her voice, as she addressed Francis,
seemed altered.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
141
“ Sir Timothy has been showing me some of the
wonders of his villa — do you call it a villa or a pal-
ace? ” she asked.
“ It is certainly not a palace,” Sir Timothy pro-
tested, “ and I fear that it has scarcely the atmos-
phere of a villa. It is an attempt to combine certain
ideas of my own with the requirements of modern
entertainment. Come and have a drink with us,
Ledsam.”
“I have just had one,” Francis replied. “Mrs.
Hilditch is in the rose garden and I am on my way
to join her.”
He passed on and the two moved towards the open
French windows. He crossed the rustic bridge that
led into the flower garden, turned down the pergola
and came to a sudden standstill before the seat which
Margaret had indicated. It was empty, but in the
corner lay the long-stalked lily which she had picked
in the backwater. He stood there for a moment,
transfixed. There were other seats and chairs in the
garden, but he knew before he started his search
that it was in vain. She had gone. The flower,
drooping a little now though the stalk was still wet
with the moisture of the river, seemed to him like
her farewell.


CHAPTER XIX
FRANCIS was surprised, when he descended for
breakfast the next morning, to find the table laid
for one only. The butler who was waiting, handed
him the daily papers and wheeled the electric heater
to his side.
“ Is no one else breakfasting?” Francis asked.
“ Sir Timothy and Mrs. Hilditch are always
served in their rooms, sir. Her ladyship is taking
her coffee upstairs."
Francis ate his breakfast, glanced through the
Times, lit a cigarette and went round to the garage
for his car. The butler met him as he drove up be-
fore the porch.
“ Sir Timothy begs you to excuse him this morn-
ing, sir,” he announced. “His secretary has arrived
from town with a very large correspondence which
they are now engaged upon.”
“ And Mrs. Hilditch? ” Francis ventured.
“I have not seen her maid this morning, sir," the
man replied, “but Mrs. Hilditch never rises before
midday. Sir Timothy hopes that you slept well,
sir, and would like you to sign the visitors' book.”
Francis signed his name mechanically, and was
turning away when Lady Cynthia called to him from
the stairs. She was dressed for travelling and fol-
lowed by a maid, carrying her dressing-case.
“Will you take me up to town, Mr. Ledsam?”
she asked.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
143
“ Delighted,” he answered.
Their dressing-cases were strapped together be-
hind and Lady Cynthia sank into the cushions by his
side. They drove away from the house, Francis with
a backward glance of regret. The striped sun-blinds
had been lowered over all the windows, thrushes and
blackbirds were twittering on the lawn, the air was
sweet with the perfume of flowers, a boatman was
busy with the boats. Out beyond, through the trees,
the river wound its placid way.
“Quite a little paradise," Lady Cynthia mur-
mured.
“ Delightful,” her companion assented. “I sup-
pose great wealth has its obligations, but why any
human being should rear such a structure as what
he calls his Borghese villa, when he has a charming
place like that to live in, I can't imagine.”
Her silence was significant, almost purposeful.
She unwound the veil from her motoring turban, took
it off altogether and attached it to the cushions of
the car with a hatpin.
“ There," she said, leaning back, “ you can now
gaze upon a horrible example to the young women
of to-day. You can see the ravages which late hours,
innumerable cocktails, a thirst for excitement, a con-
tempt of the simple pleasures of life, have worked
upon my once comely features. I was quite good-
looking, you know, in the days you first knew
me.”
“ You were the most beautiful débutante of your
season,” he agreed.
“What do you think of me now?" she asked.
She met his gaze without flinching. Her face was


144
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
unnaturally thin, with disfiguring hollows underneath
her cheekbones; her lips lacked colour; even her eyes
were lustreless. Her hair seemed to lack brilliancy.
Only her silken eyebrows remained unimpaired, and
a certain charm of expression which nothing seemed
able to destroy.
“ You look tired," he said.
“Be honest, my dear man,” she rejoined drily.
“I am a physical wreck, dependent upon cosmetics
for the looks which I am still clever enough to palm
off on the uninitiated.”
“Why don't you lead a quieter life?” he asked.
“A month or so in the country would put you all
right.”
She laughed a little hardly. Then for a moment
she looked at him appraisingly.
“I was going to speak to you of nerves," she said,
“ but how would you ever understand? You look
as though you had not a nerve in your body. I
can't think how you manage it, living in London. I
suppose you do exercises and take care of what you
eat and drink.”
“I do nothing of the sort,” he assured her indig-
nantly. “ I eat and drink whatever I fancy. I have
always had a direct object in life — my work — and
I believe that has kept me fit and well. Nerve trou-
bles come as a rule, I think, from the under-used
brain.”
“I must have been born with a butterfly dispo-
sition,” she said. “I am quite sure that mine come
because I find it so hard to be amused. I am sure
I am most enterprising. I try whatever comes along,
but nothing satisfies me.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
145
Why not try being in love with one of these men
who've been in love with you all their lives ? "
She laughed bitterly.
“ The men who have cared for me and have been
worth caring about,” she said, “ gave me up years
ago. I mocked at them when they were in earnest,
scoffed at sentiment, and told them frankly that
when I married it would only be to find a refuge for
a broader life. The right sort wouldn't have any-
thing to say to me after that, and I do not blame
them. And here is the torture of it. I can't stand
the wrong sort near me -- physically, I mean.
Mind, I believe I'm attracted towards people with
criminal tastes and propensities. I believe that is
what first led me towards Sir Timothy. Every taste
I ever had in life seems to have become besmirched.
I'm all the time full of the craving to do horrible
things, but all the same I can't bear to be touched..
That's the torment of it. I wonder if you can un-
derstand?"
“I think I can," he answered. “Your trouble
lies in having the wrong friends and in lack of self-
discipline. If you were my sister, I'd take you away
for a fortnight and put you on the road to being
cured.”
“ Then I wish I were your sister,” she sighed.
“ Don't think I'm unsympathetic,” he went on,
“ because I'm not. Wait till we've got into the main
road here and I'll try and explain.”
They were passing along a country lane, so narrow
that twigs from the hedges, wreathed here and there
in wild roses, brushed almost against their cheeks.
On their left was the sound of a reaping-machine and


146
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
the perfume of new-mown hay. The sun was grow-
ing stronger at every moment. A transitory gleam
of pleasure softened her face.
“ It is ages since I smelt honeysuckle," she con-
fessed, “except in a perfumer's shop. I was won-
dering what it reminded me of.”
“ That," he said, as they turned out into the
broad main road, with its long vista of telegraph
poles, “is because you have been neglecting the real
for the sham, flowers themselves for their artificially
distilled perfume. What I was going to try and put
into words without sounding too priggish, Lady
Cynthia,” he went on," is this. It is just you people
who are cursed with a restless brain who are in the
most dangerous position, nowadays. The things
which keep us healthy and normal physically —
games, farces, dinner-parties of young people, fresh
air and exercise — are the very things which after a
time fail to satisfy the person with imagination. You
want more out of life, always the something you
don't understand, the something beyond. And so
you keep on trying new things, and for every new
thing you try, you drop an old one. Isn't it some-
thing like that?”
“ I suppose it is,” she admitted wearily.
“ Drugs take the place of wholesome wine,” he
went on, warming to his subject. “The hideous
fascination of flirting with the uncouth or the im-
possible some way or another, stimulates a passion
which simple means have ceased to gratify. You
seek for the unusual in every way — in food, in the
substitution of absinthe for your harmless Martini,
of cocaine for your stimulating champagne. There


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
147
is a horrible wave of all this sort of thing going on
to-day in many places, and I am afraid,” he con-
cluded, “ that a great many of our very nicest young
women are caught up in it.”
“Guilty,” she confessed. “Now cure me.”
* I could point out the promised land, but how
could I lead you to it? ” he answered.
“ You don't like me well enough,” she sighed.
“I like you better than you believe,” he assured
her, slackening his speed a little. “We have met,
I suppose, a dozen times in our lives. I have danced
with you here and there, talked nonsense once, I re-
member, at a musical reception --"
“I tried to flirt with you then," she interrupted.
He nodded.
“I was in the midst of a great case,” he said,
6 and everything that happened to me outside it was
swept out of my mind day by day. What I was
going to say is that I have always liked you, from
the moment when your mother presented me to you
at your first dance.”
“ I wish you'd told me so," she murmured.
“ It wouldn't have made any difference,” he de-
clared. “I wasn't in a position to think of a duke's
daughter, in those days. I don't suppose I am
now.”
“ Try," she begged hopefully.
He smiled back at her. The reawakening of her
sense of humour was something.
“Too late," he regretted. “ During the last
month or so the thing has come to me which we all
look forward to, only I don't think fate has treated
me kindly. I have always loved normal ways and


148
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
normal people, and the woman I care for is differ-
ent.”
“ Tell me about her? ” she insisted.
“ You will be very surprised when I tell you her
name," he said. “It is Margaret Hilditch.”
She looked at him for a moment in blank astonish-
ment.
“Heavens!” she exclaimed. “ Oliver Hilditch's
wife ! ”
“ I can't help that," he declared, a little doggedly.
“She's had a miserable time, I know. She was mar-
ried to a scamp. I'm not quite sure that her father
isn't as bad a one. Those things don't make any
difference.”
“ They wouldn't with you,” she said softly. “ Tell
me, did you say anything to her last night? "
“I did," he replied. “I began when we were out
alone together. She gave me no encouragement to
speak of, but at any rate she knows."
Lady Cynthia leaned a little forward in her place.
“ Do you know where she is now?"
He was a little startled.
“ Down at the cottage, I suppose. The butler
told me that she never rose before midday.”
" Then for once the butler was mistaken," his
companion told him. “Margaret Hilditch left at
six o'clock this morning. I saw her in travelling
clothes get into the car and drive away.”
“ She left the cottage this morning before us?"
Francis repeated, amazed.
“I can assure you that she did,” Lady Cynthia
insisted. “I never sleep, amongst my other pecu-
liarities,” she went on bitterly," and I was lying on


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
149
a couch by the side of the open window when the
car came for her. She stopped it at the bend of the
avenue — so that it shouldn't wake us up, I suppose.
I saw her get in and drive away.”
Francis was silent for several moments. Lady
Cynthia watched him curiously.
“ At any rate," she observed, “ in whatever mood
she went away this morning, you have evidently suc-
ceeded in doing what I have never seen any one else
do — breaking through her indifference. I shouldn't
have thought that anything short of an earthquake
would have stirred Margaret, these days.”
.“ These days? ” he repeated quickly. “How long
have you known her?”
“We were at school together for a short time,”
she told him. “It was while her father was in South
America. Margaret was a very different person in
those days."
“ However was she induced to marry a person
like Oliver Hilditch?” Francis speculated.
His companion shrugged her shoulders.
& Who knows? " she answered indifferently. “ Are
you going to drop me?"
“ Wherever you like.”
“ Take me on to Grosvenor Square, if you will,
then," she begged, “ and deposit me at the ancestral
mansion. I am really rather annoyed about Mar-
garet," she went on, rearranging her veil. “ I had
begun to have hopes that you might have revived
my taste for normal things.”
“ If I had had the slightest intimation - he
murmured.
“ It would have made no difference,” she inter-


150
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
rupted dolefully. “Now I come to think of it, the
Margaret whom I used to know — and there must
be plenty of her left yet — is just the right type of
woman for you."
They drew up outside the house in Grosvenor
Square. Lady Cynthia held out her hand.
“Come and see me one afternoon, will you?" she
invited.
“I'd like to very much,” he replied.
She lingered on the steps and waved her hand to
him — a graceful, somewhat insolent gesture.
“ All the same, I think I shall do my best to make
you forget Margaret,” she called out. “ Thanks
for the lift up. À bientôt!”


CHAPTER XX
FRANCIS drove direct from Grosvenor Square to
his chambers in the Temple, and found Shopland, his
friend from Scotland Yard, awaiting his arrival.
“ Any news?” Francis enquired.
“Nothing definite, I am sorry to say,” was the
other's reluctant admission.
· Francis hung up his hat, threw himself into his
easy-chair and lit a cigarette.
“ The lad's brother is one of my oldest friends,
Shopland," he said. “He is naturally in a state of
great distress.”
The detective scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“I said ' nothing definite' just now, sir,” he ob-
served. “ As a rule, I never mention suspicions, but
with you it is a different matter. I haven't discov-
ered the slightest trace of Mr. Reginald Wilmore, or
the slightest reason for his disappearance. He seems
to have been a well-conducted young gentleman, a
little extravagant, perhaps, but able to pay his way
and with nothing whatever against him. Nothing
whatever, that is to say, except one almost insig-
nificant 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."


152 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ Bobby Fairfax's lot, by any chance?"
Shopland nodded.
“He was with Jacks and Miss Daisy Hyslop, a
night or two before he disappeared. I am not sure
that a young man named Morse wasn't of the party,
too."
“What do you make of that lot?” Francis asked
curiously. “ Are they gamesters, dope fiends, or
simply vicious?"
The detective was silent. He was gazing intently
at his rather square-toed shoes.
“ There are rumours, sir;" he said, presently, “ of
things going on in the West End which want looking
into very badly — very badly indeed. You will re-
member speaking to me of Sir Timothy Brast?"
“I remember quite well,” Francis acknowledged.
“ I've nothing to go on," the other continued. “I
am working almost on your own lines, Mr. Ledsam,
groping in the dark to find a clue, as it were, but
I'm beginning to have ideas about Sir Timothy
Brast, just ideas."
“ As, for instance?"
“Well, he stands on rather queer terms with some
of his acquaintances, sir. Now you saw, down at
Soto's Bar, the night we arrested Mr. Fairfax, that
not one of those young men there spoke to Sir Tim-
othy as though they were acquainted, nor he to
them. Yet I happened to find out that every one
of them, including Mr. Fairfax himself, was present
at a party Sir Timothy Brast gave at his house
down the river a week or two before.”
“ I'm afraid there isn't much in that,” Francis
declared. “Sir Timothy has the name of being an


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
153
eccentric person everywhere, especially in this re-
spect - he never notices acquaintances. 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?”
“How the dickens did you know I was down
there?” Francis demanded, with some surprise. “I
was just thinking as I drove up that I hadn't left
my address either here or at Clarges Street.”
“Next time you visit Sir Timothy," the de-
tective observed, “I should advise you to do so. I
knew you were there, Mr. Ledsam, because I was in
the neighbourhood myself. I have been doing a little
fishing, and keeping my eye on that wonderful estate
of Sir Timothy's.”
Francis was interested.
“ Shopland,” he said, “I believe that our intelli-
gences, such as they are, are akin.”
“ What do you suspect Sir Timothy of ? " the de-
tective asked bluntly.
“ I suspect him of nothing,” Francis replied. “He
is simply, to my mind, an incomprehensible, some
what sinister figure, who might be capable of any-
thing. He may have very excellent qualities which
he contrives to conceal, or he may be an arch-crim-
inal. His personality absolutely puzzles me.”
There was a knock at the door and Angrave ap-


154 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
peared. Apparently he had forgotten Shopland's
presence, for he ushered in another visitor.
“ Sir Timothy Brast to see you, sir,” he an-
nounced.
The moment was one of trial to every one, ad-
mirably borne. Shopland remained in his chair, with
only a casual glance at the newcomer. Francis rose
to his feet with a half-stifled expression of anger at
the clumsiness of his clerk. Sir Timothy, well-shaven
and groomed, attired in a perfectly-fitting suit of
grey flannel, nodded to Francis in friendly fashion
and laid his Homburg hat upon the table with the
air of a familiar.
“My dear Ledsam,” he said, “ I do hope that you
will excuse this early call. I could only have been
an hour behind you on the road. I dare say you
can guess what I have come to see you about. Can
we have a word together?”
“ Certainly,” was the ready reply. “ You remem-
ber my friend Shopland, Sir Timothy? It was Mr.
Shopland who arrested young Fairfax that night at
Soto's.”
“I remember him perfectly," Sir Timothy de-
clared. “I fancied, directly I entered, that your
face was familiar," he added, turning to Shopland.
“I am rather ashamed of myself about that night.
My little outburst must have sounded almost ridicu-
lous to you two. To tell you the truth, I quite failed
at that time to give Mr. Ledsam credit for gifts
which I have since discovered him to possess."
“Mr. Shopland and I are now discussing another
matter,” Francis went on, pushing a box of cigarettes
towards Sir Timothy, who was leaning against the


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
155
table in an easy attitude. “Don't go, Shopland,
for a minute. We were consulting together about
the disappearance of a young man, Reggie Wilmore,
the brother of a friend of mine — Andrew Wilmore,
the novelist.”
“Disappearance?" Sir Timothy repeated, as he
lit à cigarette. “That is rather a vague term.”
“ The young man has been missing from home for
over a week,” Francis said, " and left no trace what-
ever of his whereabouts. He was not in financial
trouble, he does not seem to have been entangled with
any young woman, he had not quarrelled with his
people, and he seems to have been on the best of
terms with the principal at the house of business
where he was employed. His disappearance, there-
fore, is, to say the least of it, mysterious.”
Sir Timothy assented gravely.
“ The lack of motive to which you allude,” he
pointed out, “makes the case interesting. Still, one
must remember that London is certainly the city of
modern mysteries. If a new ' Arabian Nights' were
written, it might well be about London. I dare say
Mr. Shopland will agree with me,” he continued,
turning courteously towards the detective, “ that dis-
appearances of this sort are not nearly so uncommon.
as the uninitiated would believe. For one that is
reported in the papers, there are half-a-dozen which
are not. Your late Chief Commissioner, by-the-
bye,” he added meditatively, “ once a very intimate
friend of mine, was my informant."
“Where do you suppose they disappear to?"
Francis enquired.
“ Who can tell?” was the speculative reply.


156
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
which will escaped fra, happy
“For an adventurous youth there are a thousand
doors which lead to romance. Besides, the lives of
none of us are quite so simple as they seem. Even
youth has its secret chapters. This young man, for
instance, might be on his way to Australia, happy
in the knowledge that he has escaped from some
murky chapter of life which will now never be known.
He may write to his friends, giving them a hint.
The whole thing will blow over.”
“There may be cases such as you suggest, Sir
Timothy,” the detective said quietly. “Our investi-
gations, so far as regards the young man in ques-
tion, however, do not point that way.”
Sir Timothy turned over his cigarette to look at
the name of the maker.
“Excellent tobacco,” he murmured.“ By-the-bye,
what did you say the young man's name was?"
“Reginald Wilmore,” Francis told him.
“A good name," Sir Timothy murmured. “I am
sure I wish you both every good fortune in your
quest. Would it be too much to ask you now, Mr.
Ledsam, for that single minute alone? ”
“ By no means," Francis answered.
“ I'll wait in the office, if I may,” Shopland sug-
gested, rising to his feet. “I want to have another
word with you before I go.”
“My business with Mr. Ledsam is of a family
nature,” Sir Timothy said apologetically, as Shop-
land passed out. “I will not keep him for more
than a moment."
Shopland closed the door behind him. Sir Tim-
othy waited until he heard his departing footsteps.
Then he turned back to Francis.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 159
“Mr. Ledsam,” he said, “I have come to ask you
if you know anything of my daughter's where-
abouts ? "
“Nothing whatever,” Francis replied. “I was on
the point of ringing you up to ask you the same
question."
“ Did she tell you that she was leaving The
Sanctuary?”
“ She gave me not the slightest intimation of it,"
Francis assured his questioner, “ in fact she invited
me to meet her in the rose garden last night. When
I arrived there, she was gone. I have heard nothing
from her since.”
“ You spent the evening with her?”
6 To my great content.”
“ What happened between you?”
“Nothing happened. I took the opportunity,
however, of letting your daughter understand the
nature of my feelings for her.”
“Dear me! May I ask what they are?”
“I will translate them into facts,” Francis re-
plied. “I wish your daughter to become my wife.”.
“ You amaze me!” Sir Timothy exclaimed, with
the old mocking smile at his lips. “How can you
possibly contemplate association with the daughter
of a man whom you suspect and distrust as you do
me?"
“If I suspect and distrust you, it is your own
fault,” Francis reminded him. “ You have declared
yourself to be a criminal and a friend of criminals.
I am inclined to believe that you have spoken the
truth. I care for that fact just as little as I care
for the fact that you are a millionaire, or that Mar-


158
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
garet has been married to a murderer. I intend her
to become my wife.”
“ Did you encourage her to leave me?”
“I did not. I had not the slightest idea that she
had left The Sanctuary until Lady Cynthia told me,
halfway to London this morning."
Sir Timothy was silent for several moments.
“ Have you any idea in your own mind,” he per-
sisted," as to where she has gone and for what pur-
pose?”
“Not the slightest in the world,” Francis declared.
“I am just as anxious to hear from her, and to
know where she is, as you seem to be.”
Sir Timothy sighed.
“ I am disappointed,” he admitted. “I had hoped
to obtain some information from you. I must try in
another direction.”
“ Since you are here, Sir Timothy,” Francis said,
as his visitor prepared to depart, “may I ask
whether you have any objection to my marrying
your daughter?”
Sir Timothy frowned.
“ The question places me in a somewhat difficult
position,” he replied coldly. “In a certain sense I
have a liking for you. You are not quite the in-
genuous nincompoop I took you for on the night of
our first meeting. On the other hand, you have
prejudices against me. My harmless confession of
sympathy with criminals and their ways seems to
have stirred up a cloud of suspicion in your mind.
You even employ a detective to show the world what
a fool he can look, sitting in a punt attempting to
fish, with one eye on the supposed abode of crime.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
159
“I have nothing whatever to do with the details
of Shopland's investigations," Francis protested.
“ He is in search of Reggie Wilmore.”
“Does he think I have secret dungeons in my new
abode,” Sir Timothy demanded, “or oubliettes in
which I keep and starve brainless youths for some
nameless purpose? Be reasonable, Mr. Ledsam.
What the devil benefit could accrue to me from ab-
ducting or imprisoning or in any way laying my
criminal hand upon this young man?”
“None whatever that we have been able to dis-
cover as yet,” Francis admitted.
“ A leaning towards melodrama, admirable in its
way, needs the leaven of a well-balanced discretion
and a sense of humour,” Sir Timothy observed.
“ 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. If I can persuade your
daughter to marry me, your consent will not affect
the matter."
“I can leave Margaret a matter of two million
pounds," Sir Timothy said pensively.
“I have enough money to support my wife my-
self,” Francis observed.
“Utopian but foolish," Sir Timothy declared.
“ All the same, Mr. Ledsam, let me tell you this.
You have a curious attraction for me. When I was
asked why I had invited you to The Sanctuary last


160 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
night, I frankly could not answer the question. I
didn't know. I don't know. Your dislike of me
doesn't seem to affect the question. I was glad to
have you there last night. It pleases me to hear you
talk, to hear your views of things. I feel that I
shall have to be very careful, Mr. Ledsam, or "
“Or what?" Francis demanded.
“Or I shall even welcome the idea of having you
for a son-in-law," Sir Timothy concluded reluctantly,
“ Make my excuses to Mr. Shopland. Au revoir ! "
Shopland came in as the door closed behind the
departing visitor. He listened to all that Francis
had to say, without comment.
“ If The Walled House," he said at last, “is so
carefully guarded that Sir Timothy has been in-
formed of my watching the place and has been made
aware of my mild questionings, it must be because
there is something to conceal. I may or may not be
on the track of Mr. Reginald Wilmore, but," the
detective concluded, “ of one thing I am becoming
convinced - The Walled House will pay for watch-
ing.”


CHAPTER XXI
It was a day when chance was kind to Francis.
After leaving his rooms at the Temple, he made a call
at one of the great clubs in Pall Mall, to enquire
as to the whereabouts of a friend. On his way back
towards the Sheridan, he came face to face with
Margaret Hilditch, issuing from the doors of one of
the great steamship companies. For a moment he
almost failed to recognise her. She reminded him
more of the woman of the tea-shop. Her costume,
neat and correct though it was, was studiously un-
obtrusive. Her motoring veil, too, was obviously
worn to assist her in escaping notice.
She, too, came to a standstill at seeing him. Her
first ejaculations betrayed a surprise which bordered
on consternation. Then Francis, with a sudden in-
spiration, pointed to the long envelope which she was
carrying in her hand.
“ You have been to book a passage somewhere!”
he exclaimed.
“ Well?”
The monosyllable was in her usual level tone.
Nevertheless, he could see that she was shaken.
“ You were going away without seeing me again?”
he asked reproachfully.
“ Yes!” she admitted.
" Why?"


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
163
He laughed gaily, and turned around from the
sideboard, where he was busy mixing cocktails.
“ Thank heavens for that touch of humanity!"
he exclaimed. “A woman who can bother about her
hair when she takes her hat off, is never past praying
for. Please drink this.”
She obeyed. He took the empty glass away from
her. Then he came over to the hearthrug by her
side.
“Do you know that I kissed you last night?” he
reminded her.
“I do,” she answered. “That is why I have just
paid eighty-four pounds for a passage to Buenos
Ayres."
“I should have enjoyed the trip,” he said. “Still,
I'm glad I haven't to go.”
“Do you really mean that you would have come
after me?” she asked curiously.
“Of course I should,” he assured her. « Believe
me, there isn't such an obstinate person in the world
as the man of early middle-age who suddenly dis-
covers the woman he means to marry.”
“But you can't marry me," she protested.
“ Why not? ” he asked.
“ Because I was Oliver Hilditch's wife, for one
thing."
“ Look here,” he said, “if you had been Beelze-
bub's wife, it wouldn't make the least difference to
me. You haven't given me much of a chance to tell
you so yet, Margaret, but I love you."
She sat a little forward in her chair. Her eyes
were fixed upon his wonderingly.
“ But how can you?” she exclaimed. “You know,


164
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
nothing of me except my associations, and they have
been horrible. What is there to love in me? I am
a frozen-up woman. Everything is dead here," she
went on, clasping her hand to her heart. “I have
no sentiment, no passion, nothing but an animal de-
sire to live my life luxuriously and quickly.”
He smiled confidently. Then, with very little
warning, he sank on one knee, drew her face to his,
kissed her lips and then her eyes.
“ Are you so sure of all these things, Margaret ? "
he whispered. “Don't you think it is, perhaps, be-
cause there has been no one to care for you as I do
- as I shall — to the end of my days? The lily
you left on your chair last night was like you —
fair and stately and beautiful, but a little bruised.
You will come back as it has done, come back to the
world. My love will bring you. My care. Believe
it, please!”
Then he saw the first signs of change in her face.
There was the faintest shade of almost shell-like pink
underneath the creamy-white of her cheeks. Her lips
were trembling a little, her eyes were misty. With a
sudden passionate little impulse, her arms were
around his neck, her lips sought his of their own
accord.
“Let me forget," she sobbed. “ Kiss me . . .
let me forget! ”
Francis' servant was both heavy-footed and dis-
creet. When he entered the room with a tray, his
master was standing at the sideboard.
“ I've done the best I could, sir,” he announced,
a little apologetically. “Shall I lay the cloth?”
“ Leave everything on the tray, Brooks,” Francis


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
165
directed. “We will help ourselves. In an hour's
time bring coffee.”
The man glanced around the room.
“ There are glasses on the sideboard, sir, and the
corkscrew is here. I think you will have everything
you want.”
He departed, closing the door behind him. Francis
held out his hands to Margaret. She rose slowly to
her feet, looked in the glass helplessly and then back
at him. She was very beautiful but a little dazed.
“Are we going to have luncheon ? " she asked.
“ Of course,” he answered. “ Did you think I
meant to starve you?”.
He picked up the long envelope which she had
dropped upon the carpet, and threw it on to the
sofa. Then he drew up two chairs to the table, and
opened a small bottle of champagne.
“I hope you won't mind a picnic," he said.
“Really, Brooks hasn't done so badly — pâté de foie
gras, hot toast and Devonshire butter. Let me
spread some for you. A cold chicken afterwards,
and some strawberries. Please be hungry, Mar-
garet.”
She laughed at him. It occurred to him suddenly,
with a little pang, that he had never heard her
laugh before. It was like music.
“ I'm too happy," she murmured.
“ Believe me," he assured her, as he buttered a
piece of toast, “happiness and hunger might well
be twins. They go so well together. Misery can
take away one's appetite. Happiness, when one
gets over the gulpiness of it, is the best tonic in the
world. And I never saw any one, dear, with whom


166
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
happiness agreed so well," he added, pausing in his
task to bend over and kiss her. “Do you know you
are the most beautiful thing on earth? It is a lucky
thing we are going to live in England, and that
these are sober, matter-of-fact days, or I should find
myself committed to fighting duels all the time."
She had a momentary relapse. A look of terror
suddenly altered her face. She caught at his wrist.
“Don't!” she cried. “Don't talk about such
things!”
He was a little bewildered. The moment passed.
She laughed almost apologetically.
“Forgive me," she begged, “but I hate the
thought of fighting of any sort. Some day I'll ex-
plain.”
“ Clumsy ass I was!” he declared, completing his
task and setting the result before her. “Now how's
that for a first course? Drink a little of your wine.”
He leaned his glass against hers.
“My love,” he whispered, “my love now, dear,
and always, and you'll find it quite strong enough,”
he went on, “ to keep you from all the ugly things.
And now away with sentiment. I had a very ex-
cellent but solitary breakfast this morning, and it
seems a long time ago.”
“ It seems amazing to think that you spent last
night at The Sanctuary,” she reflected.
“And that you and I were in a punt,” he reminded
her, " in the pool of darkness where the trees met,
and the lilies leaned over to us."
“ And you nearly upset the punt."
“ Nothing of the sort! As a matter of fact, I was
very careful. But,” he proceeded, with a sudden


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
167
wave of memory, “ I don't think my heart will ever
beat normally again. It seemed as though it would
tear its way out of my side when I leaned towards
you, and you knew, and you lay still."
She laughed.
“ You surely didn't expect I was going to get up?
It was quite encouragement enough to remain pas-
sive. As a matter of fact,” she went on, “ I couldn't
have moved. I couldn't have uttered a sound. 'I
suppose I must have been like one of those poor birds
you read about, when some devouring animal
crouches for its last spring.”
“ Compliments already!” he remarked. “You
won't forget that my name is Francis, will you?
Try and practise it while I carve the chicken.”
“ You carve very badly, Francis," she told him
demurely.
“My dear,” he said, “thank heavens we shall be
able to afford a butler! By-the-bye, I told your fa-
ther this morning that I was going to marry you,
and he didn't seem to think it possible because he
had two million pounds.”
“ Braggart!” she murmured. “When did you see
my father? ”
“He came to my rooms in the Temple soon after
I arrived this morning. He seemed to think I might
know where you were. I dare say he won't like me
for a son-in-law," Francis continued with a smile.
“ I can't help that. He shouldn't have let me go out
with you in a punt.”
There was a discreet knock at the door. Brooks
made his apologetic and somewhat troubled entrance.
“ Sir Timothy Brast is here to see you, sir,” he


CHAPTER XXII
AFTER his first glance at Sir Timothy, Francis'
only thought was for Margaret. To his intense re-
lief, she showed no signs whatever of terror, or of
any relapse to her former state. She was entirely
mistress of herself and the occasion. Sir Timothy's
face was cold and terrible. .
“I must apologise for this second intrusion, Mr.
Ledsam," he said cuttingly. “I think you will admit
that the circumstances warrant it. Am I to under-
stand that you lied to me this morning?"
“ You are to understand nothing of the sort,"
Francis answered. “I told you everything I knew
at that time of your daughter's movements."
“ Indeed!” Sir Timothy murmured. “This little
banquet, then, was unpremeditated?”
“ Entirely," Francis replied. “ Here is the exact
truth, so far as I am concerned. I met your daugh-
ter little more than an hour ago, coming out of a
steamship office, where she had booked a passage to
Buenos Ayres to get away from me. I was for-
tunate enough to induce her to change her mind. She
has consented instead to remain in England as my
wife. We were, as you see, celebrating the occasion.”
Sir Timothy laid his hat upon the sideboard and
slowly removed his gloves.
“I trust,” he said, “ that this pint bottle does not
represent your cellar. I will drink a glass of wine


170
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
with you, and with your permission make myself a
pâté sandwich. I was just sitting down to luncheon
when I received the information which brought me
here."
Francis produced another bottle of wine from the
sideboard and filled his visitor's glass.
“You will drink, I hope, to our happiness," he
said.
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” Sir Timothy
declared, helping himself with care to the pâté. “I
have no superstitions about breaking bread with an
enemy, or I should not have asked you to visit me at
The Sanctuary, Mr. Ledsam. I object to your mar-
riage with my daughter, and I shall take what steps
I can to prevent it.”
“Why? "
Sir Timothy did not at once reply. He seemed to
be enjoying his sandwich; he also appreciated the
flavour of his wine.
“ Your question," he said, “ strikes me as being a
little ingenuous. You are at the present moment
suspecting me of crimes beyond number. You en-
courage Scotland Yard detectives to make asses of
themselves in my stream. Your myrmidons scramble
on to the top of my walls and try to bribe my serv-
ants to disclose the mysteries of my household. You
have accepted to the fullest extent my volunteered
statement that I am a patron of crime. You are, in
short — forgive me if I help myself to a little more
of this pâté — engaged in a strenuous attempt to
bring me to justice.”
* None of these things affects your daughter,”
Francis pointed out.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 171
“ Pardon me," Sir Timothy objected. “You are
a great and shining light of the English law. People
speak of you as a future Chancellor. How can you
contemplate an alliance with the widow of one crim-
inal and the daughter of another?”
“ As to Margaret being Oliver Hilditch's widow,"
Francis replied, “ you were responsible for that, and
no one else. He was your protégé; you gave your
consent to the marriage. As to your being her fa-
ther, that again is not Margaret's fault. I should
marry her if Oliver Hilditch had been three times
the villain he was, and if you were the Devil him-
self.”
“I am getting quite to like you, Mr. Ledsam,"
Sir Timothy declared, helping himself to another
piece of toast and commencing to butter it. “Mar-
garet, what have you to say about all this? "
“I have nothing to say,” she answered. “ Francis
is speaking for me. I never dreamed that after what
I have gone through I should be able to care for any
one again in this world. I do care, and I am very
happy about it. All last night I lay awake, making
up my mind to run away, and this morning I actually
booked my passage to Buenos Ayres. Then we met
— just outside the steamship office — and I knew
at once that I was making a mistake. I shall marry
Francis exactly when he wants me to.”
Sir Timothy passed his glass towards his proposed
son-in-law.
“Might one suggest,” he began — “ thank you
very much. This is of course very upsetting to me.
I seem to be set completely at defiance. It is a very
excellent wine, this, and a wonderful vintage."


172
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
Francis bent over Margaret.
“ Please finish your lunch, dear,” he begged. “It
is perhaps just as well that your father came. We
shall know exactly where we are."
“ Just so," Sir Timothy agreed.
There was a queer constrained silence for several
moments. Then Sir Timothy leaned back in his
chair and with a word of apology lit a cigarette.
“ Let us,” he said, “ consider the situation. Mar-
garet is my daughter. You wish to marry her.
Margaret is of age and has been married before.
She is at liberty, therefore, to make her own choice.
You agree with me so far?”
“ Entirely,” Francis assented.
“ It happens," Sir Timothy went on, “ that I dis-
approve of her choice. She desires to marry a young
man who belongs to a profession which I detest, and
whose efforts in life are directed towards the exter-
mination of a class of people for whom I have every
sympathy. To me he represents the smug as against
the human, the artificially moral as against the free-
thinker. He is also my personal enemy. I am there-
fore naturally desirous that my daughter should not
marry this young man.”
“ We will let it go at that,” Francis commented,
“ but I should like to point out to you that the an-
tagonism between us is in no way personal. You
have declared yourself for forces with which I am
at enmity, like any other decent-living citizen. Your
declaration might at any time be amended.”
Sir Timothy bowed.
“ The situation is stated,” he said. “I will ask
you this question as a matter of form. Do you rec-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
173
ognise my right to forbid your marriage with my
daughter, Mr. Ledsam?”
“I most certainly do not,” was the forcible reply.
“ Have I any rights at all? ” Sir Timothy asked.
“ Margaret has lived under my roof whenever it has
suited her to do so. Since she has taken up her resi-
dence at Curzon Street, she has been her own mis-
tress, her banking account has known no limit what-
soever. I may be a person of evil disposition, but I
have shown no unkindness to her.”
“ It is quite true," Margaret admitted, turning a
little pale. “Since I have been alone, you have been
kindness itself.”
“ Then let me repeat my question,” Sir Timothy
went on, “ have I the right to any consideration at
all? »
“Yes," Francis replied. “ Short of keeping us
apart, you have the ordinary rights of a parent.”
“ Then I ask you to delay the announcement of
your engagement, or taking any further steps con-
cerning it, for fourteen days,” Sir Timothy said. “I
place no restrictions on your movements during that
time. Such hospitality as you, Mr. Ledsam, care to
accept at my hands, is at your disposal. I am Bo-
hemian enough, indeed, to find nothing to complain
of in such little celebrations as you are at present
indulging in — most excellent pâté, that. But I re-
quest that no announcement of your engagement be
made, or any further arrangements made concerning
it, for that fourteen days."
“ I am quite willing, father," Margaret acquiesced.
“ And I, sir,” Francis echoed.
“In which case," Sir Timothy concluded, rising


174
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
to his feet, lighting a cigarette and taking up his hat
and gloves, “ I shall go peaceably away. You will
admit, I trust,” he added, with that peculiar smile
at the corner of his lips, “ that I have not in any
way tried to come the heavy father? I can even
command a certain amount of respect, Margaret, for
a young man who is able to inaugurate his engage-
ment by an impromptu meal of such perfection. I
wish you both good morning. Any invitation which
Margaret extends, Ledsam, please consider as con-
firmed by me.”
He closed the door softly. They heard his foot-
steps descending the stairs. Francis leaned once
more over Margaret. She seemed still dazed, con-
fused with new thoughts. She responded, however,
readily to his touch, yielded to his caress with an
almost pathetic eagerness.
“ Francis," she murmured, as his arms closed
around her, “ I want to forget."


CHAPTER XXIII
THERE followed a brief period of time, the most
wonderful of his life, the happiest of hers. They
took advantage of Sir Timothy's absolute license,
and spent long days at The Sanctuary, ideal lovers'
days, with their punt moored at night amongst the
lilies, where her kisses seemed to come to him with
an aroma and wonder born of the spot. Then there
came a morning when he found a cloud on her face.
She was looking at the great wall, and away at the
minaret beyond. They had heard from the butler
that Sir Timothy had spent the night at the villa,
and that preparations were on hand for another of
his wonderful parties. Francis, who was swift to
read her thoughts, led her away into the rose garden
where once she had failed him.
“ You have been looking over the wall, Margaret,"
he said reproachfully.
She looked at him with a little twitch at the cor-
ners of her lips.
“ Francis dear,” she confessed, “I am afraid you
are right. I cannot even look towards The Walled
House without wondering why it was built — or
catch a glimpse of that dome without stupid guesses
as to what may go on underneath.”
“I think very likely," he said soothingly,“ we have
both exaggerated the seriousness of your father's hob-
bies. We know that he has a wonderful gymnasium


176 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
there, but the only definite rumour I have ever heard
about the place is that men fight there who have a
grudge against one another, and that they are not
too particular about the weight of the gloves. That
doesn't appeal to us, you know, Margaret, but it
isn't criminal.”
“ If that were all !” she murmured.
“ I dare say it is,” he declared. “ London, as you
know, is a hot-bed of gossip. Everything that goes
on is ridiculously exaggerated, and I think that it
rather appeals to your father's curious sense of hu-
mour to pose as the law-breaker.”
She pressed his arm a little. The day was over-
cast, a slight rain was beginning to fall.
“ Francis,” she whispered, “ we had a perfect day
here yesterday. Now the sun has gone and I am
shivery.”
He understood in a moment.
“We'll lunch at Ranelagh,” he suggested. “It is
almost on the way up. Then we can see what the
weather is like. If it is bad, we can dine in town to-
night and do a theatre.”
“ You are a dear,” she told him fervently. “I am
going in to get ready."
Francis went round to the garage for his car, and
brought it to the front. While he was sitting there,
Sir Timothy came through the door in the wall. He
was smoking a cigar and he was holding an umbrella
to protect his white flannel suit. He was as usual
wonderfully groomed and turned out, but he walked
as though he were tired, and his smile, as he greeted
Francis, lacked a little of its usual light-hearted
mockery.


178
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
but my entertainments are for men. The women
whom I have hitherto asked have been women in whom
I have taken no personal interest. They are neces-
sary to form a picturesque background for my
rooms, in the same way that I look to the gardeners
to supply the floral decorations. Lady Cynthia's
instincts, however, are somewhat adventurous. She
would scarcely be content to remain a decoration.".
“ The issuing of your invitations,” Francis re-
marked, “ is of course a matter which concerns no-
body else except yourself. If you do decide to fa-
vour me with one, I shall be delighted to come, pro-
vided Margaret has no objection.”
“ Such a reservation promises well for the future,”
Sir Timothy observed, with gentle sarcasm. “ Here
comes Margaret, looking very well, I am glad to
see.”
Margaret came forward to greet her father before
stepping into the car. They exchanged only a few
sentences, but Francis, whose interest in their rela-
tions was almost abnormally keen, fancied that he
could detect signs of some change in their demeanour
towards one another. The cold propriety of deport-
ment which had characterised her former attitude
towards her father, seemed to have given place to
something more uncertain, to something less formal,
something which left room even for a measure of cor-
diality. She looked at him differently. It was as
though some evil thought which lived in her heart
concerning him had perished.
“ You are busy over there, father?" she asked.
“ In a way," he replied. “We are preparing for
some festivities on Thursday.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
181
me little puzzlinoh him, to an onla sime,
“I see
“No names," he begged.
“ Considering that it was I who first put you on to
him,” Francis expostulated, “ I don't think you need
be so sparing of your confidence.”
“Mr. Ledsam,” the detective assured him, “ I shall
tell you everything that is possible. At the same
time, I will be frank with you. You are right when
you say that it was you who first directed my atten-
tion towards Sir Timothy Brast. Since that time,
however, your own relations with him, to an onlooker,
have become a little puzzling."
“I see," Francis murmured. “You've been spy-
ing on me?"
Shopland shook his head in deprecating fashion.
"A study of Sir Timothy during the last month,"
he said, “has brought you many a time into the
focus."
“ Where are we going to now? " Francis asked, a
little abruptly.
“ Just a side show, sir. It's one of those outside
things I have come across which give light and shade
to the whole affair. We get out here, if you
please.”
The two men stepped on to the pavement. They
were in a street a little north of Wardour Street,
where the shops for the most part were of a miscella-
neous variety. Exactly in front of them, the space
behind a large plate-glass window had been trans-
formed into a sort of show-place for dogs. There
were twenty or thirty of them there, of all breeds and
varieties.
“ What the mischief is this? ” Francis demanded.
“ Come in and make enquiries,” Shopland replied.


182
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ I can promise that you will find it interesting. It's
a sort of dog's home.”
Francis followed his companion into the place. A
pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman came forward
and greeted the latter.
“Do you mind telling my friend what you told me
the other day? " he asked.
“ Certainly, sir," she replied. “We collect stray
animals here, sir,” she continued, turning to Francis.
“ Every one who has a dog or a cat he can't afford
to keep, or which he wants to get rid of, may bring it
to us. We have agents all the time in the streets,
and if any official of the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals brings us news of a dog or a cat
being ill-treated, we either purchase it or acquire it
in some way or other and keep it here."
“But your dogs in the window,” Francis observed,
“ all seem to be in wonderful condition.”
The woman smiled.
“We have a large dog and cat hospital behind,”
she explained," and a veterinary surgeon who is al-
ways in attendance. The animals are treated there
as they are brought in, and fed up if they are out of
condition. When they are ready to sell, we show
them.”
“ But is this a commercial undertaking,” Francis
enquired carefully, “ or is it a branch of the S. P.
C. A.? »
“ It's quite a private affair, sir,” the woman told
him. “We charge only five shillings for the dogs
and half-a-crown for the cats, but every one who has
one must sign our book, promising to give it a good
home, and has to be either known to us or to produce


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 185
to you I first mentioned certain suspicions I myself
had with regard to him. I treated you with every
confidence. Why do you now withhold yours from
me?"
“ It is quite true, Mr. Ledsam,” Shopland ad-
mitted, “ that it was you who first pointed out Sir
Timothy as an interesting study for my profession,
but that was a matter of months ago. If you will
forgive my saying so, your relations with Sir Timo-
thy have altered since then. You have been his guest
at The Sanctuary, and there is a rumour, sir — you
will pardon me if I seem to be taking a liberty — that
you are engaged to be married to his daughter, Oliver
Hilditch's widow.”
“ You seem to be tolerably well informed as to my
affairs, Shopland,” Francis remarked.
“ Only so far as regards your associations with Sir
Timothy," was the deprecating reply. “ If you will
excuse me, sir, this is where I should like to descend.”
“ You have no message for Mr. Wilmore, then?”
Francis asked.
“ Nothing definite, sir, but you can assure him of
this. His brother is not likely to come to any par-
ticular harm. I have no absolute information to of-
fer, but it is my impression that Mr. Reginald Wil-
more will be home before a week is past. Good after-
noon, 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 let-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
187
time ago, that so far as this particular case was con-
cerned I had no confidences to share with you. I am
sorry that you saw that letter. Since you did, how-
ever, 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! ”


190 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
ture, and the thought of your tête-à-tête dinner, al-
most 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 Sport-
ing Club. This, I suppose, is my reward — an in-
vitation to something in the nature of a State din-
ner, which, to tell you the truth, I had forgotten
until my secretary pointed it out to me this after-
noon. I have grave fears of being bored or of mis-
behaving 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 for-
gotten, 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 mat-
ters down there which are interesting me just now —
preparations for my party. Au revoir! A delicious
cocktail, 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


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
191
to you of a strange misunderstanding which has ex-
isted 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 assented. “ Noth-
ing 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 serv-
ants, 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 sub-
jects 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 com-
mon ground, for each had only the tourist's knowl-
edge 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


192
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
how young she was, how few the years that lay be-
tween 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 assured 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 chim-
neys. 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.”
“ You were very young,” he reminded her, with a
little shiver," and very inexperienced. I suppose he
appealed to you in some way or another.”
“ It wasn't that,” she replied. “He came to visit
me at Eastbourne, and he certainly knew all the
tricks of making himself attractive and agreeable.
But he never won my heart — he never even seriously
took my fancy. I married him because I believed
that by doing so I was obeying my father's wishes.”
“Where was your father at the time, then? "
Francis asked.
“ In South America. Oliver Hilditch was nothing
more than a discharged employé of his, discharged


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
193
for dishonesty. He had to leave South America
within a week to escape prosecution, and on the
way to Europe he concocted the plot which very
nearly ruined my life. He forged a letter from my
father, begging me, if I found it in any way possible,
to listen to Oliver Hilditch's proposals, and hinting
guardedly at a very serious financial crisis which it
was in his power to avert. It never occurred to me
or to my chaperon to question his bona fides. He
had lived under the same roof as my father, and
knew all the intimate details of his life. He was very
clever and I suppose I was a fool. I remember think-
ing I was doing quite a heroic action when I went
to the registrar with him. What it led to you know.”
There was a moment's throbbing silence. Francis,
notwithstanding his deep pity, was conscious of an
overwhelming sensation of relief. She had never
cared for Oliver Hilditch! She had never pretended
to! He put the thought into words.
“ You never cared for him, then?”
“ I tried to,” she replied simply, “but I found it
impossible. Within a week of our marriage I hated
him.”
Francis leaned back, his eyes half closed. In his
ears was the sonorous roar of Piccadilly, the hoot-
ing of motor-cars, close at hand the rustling of a
faint wind in the elm trees. It was a wonderful mo-
ment. The nightmare with which he had grappled
so fiercely, which he had overthrown, but whose ghost
still sometimes walked by his side, had lost its chief
and most poignant terror. She had been tricked into
the marriage. She had never cared or pretended to
care. The primal horror of that tragedy which he


194
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
had figured so often to himself, seemed to have de-
parted with the thought. Its shadow must always
remain, but in time his conscience would acquiesce in
the pronouncement of his reason. It was the hand of
justice, not any human hand, which had slain Oliver
Hilditch.
“What did your father say when he discovered
the truth? ” he asked.
“ He did not know it until he came to England
on the day that Oliver Hilditch was acquitted. My
husband always pretended that he had a special mail
bag going out to South America, so he took away
all the letters I wrote to my father, and he took care
that I received none except one or two which I know
now were forgeries. He had friends in South
America himself who helped him — one a typist in
my father's office, of whom I discovered afterwards
- but that really doesn't matter. He was a won-
derful master of deceit.”
Francis suddenly took her hands. He had an
overwhelming desire to escape from the miasma of
those ugly days, with their train of attendant
thoughts and speculations.
“ Let us talk about ourselves,” he whispered.
After that, the evening glided away incoherently,
with no sustained conversation, but with an increas-
ing sense of well-being, of soothed nerves and happi-
ness, flaming seconds of passion, sign-posts of the
wonderful world which lay before them. They sat
in the cool silence until the lights of the returning
taxicabs and motor-cars became more frequent, until
the stars crept into the sky and the yellow arc of the
moon stole up over the tops of the houses. Presently


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
195
they saw Sir Timothy's Rolls-Royce glide up to the
front door below and Sir Timothy himself enter the
house, followed by another man whose appearance
was somehow familiar.
“ Your father has changed his mind,” Francis ob-
served.
: “ Perhaps he has called for something,” she sug-
gested, “ or he may want to change his clothes be-
fore he goes down to the country.”
Presently, however, there was a knock at the door.
Hedges made his diffident appearance.
“I beg your pardon, sir," he began, addressing
Francis. “ Sir Timothy has been asking if you are
still here. He would be very glad if you could spare
him a moment in the library.”
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, 5 A Portrait
of a Gentleman Unknown," and Francis, as he hesi-
tated 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 Tim-
othy, a girl was seated. Behind her, still standing,
with his hat in his hand, was a man. Francis rec-
ognised them both with surprise.
“ Miss Hyslop!” he exclaimed.


198 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
anger in his tone,“ declines to take me seriously. I
can of course apply for a search warrant, as I shall
do, but it occurred to me to be one of those cases
which could be better dealt with, up to a certain
point, without recourse to the extremities of the law.”
Sir Timothy, who had lit his cigarette, presented
a wholly undisturbed front.
“What I cannot quite understand,” he said, “ is
the exact meaning of that word ' abduction. Why
should I be suspected of forcibly removing a harm-
less and worthy young man from his regular avoca-
tion, and, as you term it, abducting him, which I
presume means keeping him bound and gagged and
imprisoned? I do not eat young men. I do not even
care for the society of young men. I am not nat-
urally a gregarious person, but I think I would go
so far,” he added, with a bow towards Miss Hyslop,
“ as to say that I prefer the society of young women.
Satisfy my curiosity, therefore, I beg of you. For
what reason do you suppose that I have been con-
cerned in the disappearance of this 'Mr. Reginald
Wilmore? ”
Francis opened his lips, but Shopland, with a
warning glance, intervened.
“I work sometimes as a private person, sir," he
said, “but it is not to be forgotten that I am an
officer of the law. It is not for us to state motives
or even to afford explanations for our behaviour.
I have watched your house at Hatch End, Sir Tim-
othy, and I have come to the conclusion that unless
you are willing to discuss this matter with me in a
different spirit, I am justified in asking the magis-
trates for a search warrant."


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
199
Sir Timothy sighed.
“Mr. Ledsam,” he said, “ I think, after all, that
yours is the most interesting end of this espionage
business. It is you who search for motives, is it not,
and pass them on to our more automatic friend, who
does the rest. May I ask, have you supplied the
motive in the present case?”
“I have failed to discover any motive at all for
Reginald Wilmore's disappearance,” Francis ad-
mitted," nor have I at any time been able to connect
you with it. Mr. Shopland's efforts, however, al-
though he has not seen well to take me into his en-
tire confidence, have my warmest approval and sym-
pathy. Although I have accepted your very gener-
ous hospitality, Sir Timothy, I think there has been
no misunderstanding between us on this matter."
“Most correct," Sir Timothy murmured. “The
trouble seems to be, so far as I am concerned, that
no one will tell me exactly of what I am suspected?
I am to give Mr. Shopland the run of my house, or
he will make his appearance in the magistrate's court
and the evening papers will have placards with mar-
vellous headlines at my expense. How will it run, Mr.
Shopland -
66 • MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF A
YOUNG GENTLEMAN. MILLIONAIRE'S
HOUSE TO BE SEARCHED.'"
“We do not necessarily acquaint the press with
our procedure," Shopland rejoined.
“Nevertheless," Sir Timothy continued, “I have
known awkward consequences arise from a search
warrant too rashly applied for or granted. How-


200 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
ever, we are scarcely being polite. So far, Miss
Hyslop has had very little to say."
The young lady was not altogether at her ease.
“I have had very little to say,” she repeated, “be-
cause I did not expect an audience.”
Sir Timothy drew a letter from his pocket, opened
it and adjusted his eyeglass.
6 Here we are," he said. “ After leaving my
dinner-party to-night, I called at the club and found
this note. Quite an inviting little affair, you see —
young lady's writing, faint but very delicate per-
fume, excellent stationery, Milan Court — the home
of adventures!”
“ DEAR SIR TIMOTHY BRAST:
“Although I am not known to you personally, there
is a certain matter concerning which information has
come into my possession, which I should like to discuss
with you. Will you call and see me as soon as possible?
“Sincerely yours,
"Daisy Hyslop."
“On receipt of this note," Sir Timothy continued,
folding it up, “I telephoned to the young lady and
as I was fortunate enough to find her at home I
asked her to come here. I then took the liberty of
introducing myself to Mr. Shopland, whose interest
in my evening has been unvarying, and whose un-
invited company I have been compelled to bear with,
and suggested that, as I was on my way back to
Curzon Street, he had better come in and have a
drink and tell me what it was all about. I arranged
that he should find Miss Hyslop here, and for a
person of observation, which I flatter myself to be,
it was easy to discover the interesting fact that Mr.


202
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
the air of a person who had been entirely misunder-
stood.
“I wrote you out of kindness, Sir Timothy," she
said in an aggrieved manner. “I shall have nothing
more to say on the matter — to you, at any rate.”
Sir Timothy sighed.
“You see,” he said, turning to the others, “I
have lost my chance of conciliating a witness. My
cheque-book remains locked up and she has gone over
to your side.”
She turned around suddenly.
“ You know that you made Bobby Fairfax kill
Victor!” she almost shouted.
Sir Timothy smiled in triumph.
“My dear young lady," he begged, “ let us now
be friends again. I desired to know your trump
card. For that reason I fear that I have been a
little brutal. Now please don't hurry away. You
have shot your bolt. Already Mr. Shopland is turn-
ing the thing over in his mind. Was I lurking out-
side that night, Mr. Shopland, to guide that young
man's flabby arm? 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
thunder-storm.”
“I want to get out of this house," Daisy Hyslop
declared. “I think you are all horrible. Mr. Led-
sam did behave like a gentleman when he came to see
me, and Mr. Shopland asked questions civilly. But
you —_" she added, turning round to Sir Timothy.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
203
“Hush, my dear,” he interrupted, holding out his
hand. “Don't abuse me. I am not angry with you
— not in the least — and I am going to prove it. I
shall oppose any search warrant which you might
apply for, Mr. Shopland, and I think I can oppose
it with success. But I invite you two, Miss Hyslop
and Mr. Ledsam, to my party on Thursday night.
Once under my roof you shall have carte blanche.
You can wander where you please, knock the walls
for secret hiding-places, stamp upon the floor for
oubliettes. Upstairs or down, the cellars and the
lofts, the grounds and the park, the whole of my
domain is for you from midnight on Thursday until
four o'clock. What do you say, Mr. Shopland?
Does my offer satisfy you?”
The detective hesitated.
“ I should prefer an invitation for myself,” he de-
clared bluntly.
Sir Timothy shook his head.
“ Alas, my dear Mr. Shopland,” he regretted,
“ that is impossible! If I had only myself to con-
sider 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 Tim-
othy said drily, “ I shall do my best to obliterate all
traces of my various crimes. Still, you are a clever


204
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
detective, and you can give Mr. Ledsam a few hints.
Take my advice. You won't get that search war-
rant, 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 Fran-
cis, 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? ”
The girl's eyes glistened. She knew very well that
the possession of that card meant that for the next
few days she would be the envy of every one of her
acquaintances.
“ Thank you, Sir Timothy,” she replied eagerly.
“ You have quite misunderstood me but I should like
to come to your party."
Sir Timothy handed over the cards. He rang for
a servant and bowed the others out. Francis he de-
tained for a moment.
“Our little duel, my friend, marches," he said.
“ After Thursday night we will speak again of this
matter concerning Margaret. 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? ”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
205
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.
I suggest that for the first part of the entertainment
you give me the pleasure of your company."
“For the first part?"
“For the first part only,” he repeated, as he.wrote
her name upon the card.
“What about Francis?” she asked. “Is he to
stay all the time?"
Sir Timothy smiled. He locked up his drawer and
slipped the key into his pocket.
“ Ledsam and I," he said, “have promised one
another a more complete mutual understanding on
Thursday night. I may not be able to part with
him quite so soon.”


CHAPTER XXVI
BORED and listless, like a tired and drooping lily
in the arms of her somewhat athletic partner, Lady
Cynthia brought her dance to a somewhat abrupt
conclusion.
“ There is some one in the lounge there to whom
I wish to speak,” she said. “ Perhaps you won't
mind if we finish later. The floor seems sticky to-
night, or my feet are heavy."
Her partner made the best of it, as Lady Cynthia's
partners, nowadays, generally had to. She even dis-
pensed with his escort, and walked across the lounge
of Claridge's alone. Sir Timothy rose to his feet.
He had been sitting in a corner, half sheltered by a
pillar, and had fancied himself unseen.
“What a relief !” she exclaimed. “Another turn
and I should have fainted through sheer bore-
dom.”
“ Yet you are quite wonderful dancing," he said.
“I have been watching you for some time.”
“ It is one of my expiring efforts," she declared,
sinking into the chair by his side. “ You know whose
party it is, of course? Old Lady Torrington's.
Quite a boy and girl affair. Twenty-four of us had
dinner in the worst corner of the room. I can hear
the old lady ordering the dinner now. Charles with
a long menu. She shakes her head and taps him on
the wrist with her fan. "Monsieur Charles, I am a
poor woman.' Give me what there is — a small, plain


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 2014
a wonderful round for the Household it. of a new
dinner — and charge me at your minimum. The
dinner was very small and very plain, the champagne
was horribly sweet. My partner talked of a new
drill, his last innings for the Household Brigade, and
a wonderful round of golf he played last Sunday
week. I was turned on to dance with a man who
asked me to marry him, a year ago, and I could feel
him vibrating with gratitude, as he looked at me,
that I had refused. I suppose I am very haggard."
“ Does that matter, nowadays? ” Sir Timothy
asked.
She shrugged her shoulders."
“I am afraid it does. The bone and the hank of
hair stuff is played out. The dairy-maid style is
coming in. Plump little Fanny Torrington had a
great success to-night, in one of those simple white
dresses, you know, which look like a sack with a
hole cut in the top. What are you doing here by
yourself? "
“I have an engagement in a few minutes," he ex-
plained. “My car is waiting now. I looked in at
the club to dine, found my favourite table taken and
nearly every man I ever disliked sidling up to tell me:
that he hears I am giving a wonderful party on
Thursday. I decided not to dine there, after all,
and Charles found me a corner here. I am going in
five minutes."
“ Where to?" she asked. “ Can't I come with
you? »
“I fear not,” he answered. “I am going down in
the East End."
“ Adventuring?"
“ More or less," he admitted.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
209
“Where are you going?” she asked curiously.
“ Why can't I come with you?”
“I am going where I cannot take you," was the
firm reply. “I told you that before I started.”
“I shall sit here and wait for you,” she decided.
“ I rather like the neighbourhood. There is a gentle-
man in shirt-sleeves, leaning over the rail of the roof
there, who has his eye on me. I believe I shall be a
success here — which is more than I can say of a
little further westwards."
Sir Timothy smiled slightly. He had exchanged
his hat for a tweed cap, and had put on a long dust-
coat.
“ There is no gauge by which you may know the
measure of your success," he said. “If there
were —
“ If there were?” she asked, leaning a little for-
ward and looking at him with a touch of the old
brilliancy in her eyes.
“ If there were,” he said, with a little show of
mock gallantry, “ a very jealously-guarded secret
might escape me. I think you will be quite all right
here,” he continued. “ It is an open thoroughfare,
and I see two policemen at the corner. Hassell, my
chauffeur, too, is a reliable fellow. We will be back
within the hour.”
“ We?" she repeated.
He indicated a man who had silently made his
appearance during the conversation and was stand-
ing waiting on the sidewalk.
: “ Just a companion. I do not advise you to wait.
If you insist — au revoir!”
Lady Cynthia leaned back in a corner of the car.


210
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
Through half-closed eyes she watched the two men
on their way down the crowded thoroughfare — Sir
Timothy tall, thin as a lath, yet with a certain ele-
gance of bearing; the man at his side shorter, his
hands thrust into the pockets of his coat, his manner
one of subservience. She wondered languidly as to
their errand in this unsavoury neighbourhood. Then
she closed her eyes altogether and wondered about
many things.
Sir Timothy and his companion walked along the
crowded, squalid street without speech. Presently
they turned to the right and stopped in front of a
public-house of some pretensions.
“ This is the place? " Sir Timothy asked.
“ Yes, sir!”
Both men entered. Sir Timothy made his way to
the counter, his companion to a table near, where he
took a seat and ordered a drink. Sir Timothy did
the same. He was wedged in between a heterogene-
ous crowd of shabby, depressed but apparently not
ill-natured men and women. A man in a flannel shirt
and pair of shabby plaid trousers, which owed their
precarious position to a pair of worn-out braces,
turned a beery eye upon the newcomer.
“ I'll ’ave one with you, guvnor,” he said.
“ You shall indeed,” Sir Timothy assented.
“ Strike me lucky but I've touched first time!”
the man exclaimed. “ I'll ’ave a double tot of
whisky,” he added, addressing the barman. “Will
it run to it, guvnor?”
“ Certainly,” was the cordial reply," and the same
to your friends, if you will answer a question.”
“ Troop up, lads," the man shouted. “We've a


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 211
toff 'ere. He ain't a 'tec — I know the cut of them.
Out with the question.”
“ Serve every one who desires it with drinks,” Sir
Timothy directed the barman. “My question is
easily answered. Is this the place which a man whom
I understand they call Billy the Tanner frequents ? "
The question appeared to produce an almost un-
comfortable sensation. The enthusiasm for the free
drinks, however, was only slightly damped, and a
small forest of grimy hands was extended across the
counter.
“ Don't you ask no questions about 'im, guvnor,"
Sir Timothy's immediate companion advised ear-
nestly. “He'd kill you as soon as look at you.
When Billy the Tanner's in a quarrelsome mood, I've
see 'im empty this place and the whole street, quicker
than if a mad dog was loose. 'E's a fair and 'oly
terror, 'e is. 'E about killed 'is wife, three nights
ago, but there ain't a living soul as 'd dare to stand
in the witness-box about it."
“Why don't the police take a hand in the matter
if the man is such a nuisance?" Sir Timothy asked.
His new acquaintance, gripping a thick tumbler of
spirits and water with a hand deeply encrusted with
the stains of his trade, scoffed.
“ Police! Why, 'e'd take on any three of the
police round these parts!” he declared. “ Police!
You tell one on 'em that Billy the Tanner's on the
rampage, and you'll see 'em 'op it. Cheero, guvnor,
and don't you get curious about Billy. It ain't
’ealthy."
The swing-door was suddenly opened. A tousle-
haired urchin shoved his face in.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
213
There was a moment's ominous silence. The bar-
man withdrew to the further end of his domain and
busied himself cleaning some glasses. Suddenly the
door was swung open. A man entered whose appear-
ance alone was calculated to inspire a certain amount
of fear. He was tall, but his height escaped notice
by reason of the extraordinary breadth of his shoul-
ders. He had a coarse and vicious face, a crop of
red hair, and an unshaven growth of the same upon
his face. He wore what appeared to be the popular
dress in the neighbourhood — a pair of trousers sus-
pended by a belt, and a dirty flannel shirt. His
hands and even his chest, where the shirt fell away,
were discoloured by yellow stains. He looked around
the room at first with an air of disappointment.
Then he caught sight of Sir Timothy standing at the
counter, and he brightened up.
“ Where's all the crowd, Tom? " he asked the bar-
man.
“ Scared of you, I reckon," was the brief reply.
“ There was plenty here a few minutes ago.”
“ Scared of me, eh?” the other repeated, staring
hard at Sir Timothy. “Did you 'ear that, guvnor? "
“ I heard it,” Sir Timothy acquiesced.
Billy the Tanner began to cheer up. He walked
all round this stranger.
“A toff! A big toff! , I'll ’ave a drink with you,
guvnor,” he declared, with a note of incipient trucu-
lence in his tone.
The barman had already reached up for two
glasses but Sir Timothy shook his head.
“ I think not,” he said.
There was a moment's silence. The barman made
er,


214 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
despairing signs at Sir Timothy. Billy the Tanner
was moistening his lips with his tongue.
“ Why not?” he demanded.
“ Because I don't know you and I don't like you,"
was the bland reply.
Billy the Tanner wasted small time upon prelimi-
naries. He spat upon his hands.
“ I dunno you and I don't like you,” he retorted.
“D'yer know wot I'm going to do?”
“ I have no idea,” Sir Timothy confessed.
“ I'm going to make you look so that your own
mother wouldn't know you — then I'm going to pitch
you into the street,” he added, with an evil grin.
“ That's wot we does with big toffs who come 'ang-
ing around 'ere.”
“Do you?” Sir Timothy said calmly. “Perhaps
my friend may have something to say about that.”
The man of war was beginning to be worked up.
“ Where's your big friend?” he shouted. “ Come
on! I'll take on the two of you."
The man who had met Sir Timothy in the street
had risen to his feet. He strolled up to the two.
Billy the Tanner eyed him hungrily.
“ The two of you, d’yer 'ear?” he shouted. “And
'ere's just a flick for the toff to be going on with!”
He delivered a sudden blow at Sir Timothy — a
full, vicious, jabbing blow which had laid many a man
of the neighbourhood in the gutter. To his amaze-
ment, the chin at which he had aimed seemed to have
mysteriously disappeared. Sir Timothy himself was
standing about half-a-yard further away. Billy the
Tanner was too used to the game to be off his bal-
ance, but he received at that moment the surprise of
ment, the Shbourhoslow whic


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
215
his life. With the flat of his hand full open, Sir
Timothy struck him across the cheek such a blow
that it resounded through the place, a blow that
brought both the inner doors ajar, that brought
peering eyes from every direction. There was a mo-
ment's silence. The man's fists were clenched now,
there was murder in his face. Sir Timothy stepped
on one side.
“I am not a fighter," he said coolly, leaning back
against the marble table. “My friend will deal with
you."
Billy the Tanner glared at the newcomer, who had
glided in between him and Sir Timothy.
“ You can come and join in, too,” he shouted to
Sir Timothy. “ I'll knock your big head into pulp
when I've done with this little job!”
The bully knew in precisely thirty seconds what
had happened to him. So did the crowds who pressed
back into the place through the inner door. So did
the barman. So did the landlord, who had made a
cautious appearance through a trapdoor. Billy the
Tanner, for the first time in his life, was fighting a
better man. For two years he had been the terror of
the neighbourhood, and he showed now that at least
he had courage. His smattering of science, how-
ever, appeared only ridiculous. Once, through sheer
strength and blundering force, he broke down his op-
ponent's guard and struck him in the place that had
dispatched many a man before — just over the heart.
His present opponent scarcely winced, and Billy the
Tanner paid the penalty then for his years of bully-
ing. His antagonist paused for a single second, as
though unnerved by the blow. Red fire seemed to


CHAPTER XXVII
THE car stopped in front of the great house in
Grosvenor Square. Lady Cynthia turned to her
companion.
“ You must come in, please,” she said. “I insist,
if it is only for five minutes."
Sir Timothy followed her across the hall to a
curved recess, where the footman who had admitted
them touched a bell, and a small automatic lift came
down.
“I am taking you to my own quarters," she ex-
plained. “They are rather cut off but I like them
- especially on hot nights."
They glided up to the extreme top of the house.
She opened the gates and led the way into what was
practically an attic sitting-room, decorated in black
and white. Wide-flung doors opened on to the leads,
where comfortable chairs, a small table and an
electric standard were arranged. They were far
above the tops of the other houses, and looked into
the green of the Park.
“ This is where I bring very few people,” she said.
“ This is where, even after my twenty-eight years of
fraudulent life, I am sometimes myself. Wait.”
There were feminine drinks and sandwiches ar-
ranged on the table. She opened the cupboard of a
small sideboard just inside the sitting-room, how-
ever, and produced whisky and a syphon of soda.
There was a pail of ice in a cool corner. From


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
219
somewhere in the distance came the music of violins
floating through the window of a house where a dance
was in progress. They could catch a glimpse of the
striped awning and the long line of waiting vehicles
with their twin eyes of fire. She curled herself up
on a settee, flung a cushion at Sir Timothy, who
was already ensconced in a luxurious easy-chair, and
with a tumbler of iced sherbet in one hand, and a
cigarette in the other, looked across at him.
“I am not sure,” she said, “ that you have not
to-night dispelled an illusion."
“What manner of one?” he asked.
“ Above all things,” she went on, “ I have always
looked upon you as wicked. Most people do. I
think that is one reason why so many of the women
find you attractive. I suppose it is why I have
found you attractive.”
The smile was back upon his lips. He bowed a
little, and, leaning forward, dropped a chunk of ice
into his whisky and soda.
“Dear Lady Cynthia,” he murmured, “ don't tell
me that I am going to slip back in your estimation
into some normal place.”
“I am not quite sure," she said deliberately. “I
have always looked upon you as a kind of amateur
criminal, a man who loved black things and dark
ways. You know how weary one gets of the ordinary
code of morals in these days. You were such a de-
lightful antidote. And now, I am not sure that you
have not shaken my faith in you."
“ In what way?"
“You really seem to have been engaged to-night
in a very sporting and philanthropic enterprise. I..


220
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
imagined you visiting some den of vice and mixing
as an equal with these terrible people who never seem
to cross the bridges. I was perfectly thrilled when
I put on your chauffeur's coat and hat and followed
you.”
“ The story of my little adventure is a simple one,”
Sir Timothy said. “I do not think it greatly af-
fects my character. I believe, as a matter of fact,
that I am just as wicked as you would have me be,
but I have friends in every walk of life, and, as you
know, I like to peer into the unexpected places. I
had heard of this man Billy the Tanner. He beats
women, and has established a perfect reign of terror
in the court and neighbourhood where he lives. I
fear I must agree with you that there were some
elements of morality — of conforming, at any rate,
to the recognised standards of justice — in what I
did. You know, of course, that I am a great patron
of every form of boxing, fencing, and the various
arts of self-defence and attack. I just took along
one of the men from my gymnasium who I knew was
equal to the job, to give this fellow a lesson."
“He did it all right,” Lady Cynthia murmured.
“But this is where I think I re-establish myself,”.
Sir Timothy continued, the peculiar nature of his
smile reasserting itself. “I did not do this for the
sake of the neighbourhood. I did not do it from any
sense of justice at all. I did it to provide for myself
an enjoyable and delectable spectacle."
She smiled lazily.
“That does rather let you out,” she admitted.
“ However, on the whole I am disappointed. I am
afraid that you are not so bad as people think.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
223
“ She died soon afterwards."
The stars grew paler. The passing vehicles, with
their brilliant lights, grew fewer and fewer. The
breeze which had been so welcome at first, turned into
a cold night wind. She led the way back into the
room.
“I must go,” he announced.
“ You must go,” she echoed, looking up at him.
“ Good-bye!”
She was so close to him that his embrace, sudden
and passionate though it was, came about almost
naturally. She lay in his arms with perfect content
and raised her lips to his.
He broke away. He was himself again, self-furi-
ous.
“ Lady Cynthia,” he said, “ I owe you my most
humble apologies. The evil that is in me does not
as a rule break out in this direction."
“You dear, foolish person," she laughed, “ that
was good, not evil. You like me, don't you? But I
know you do. There is one crime you have always.
forgotten to develop — you haven't the simplest idea
in the world how to lie.”
“ Yes, I like you,” he admitted. “I have the most
absurd feeling for you that any man ever found it
impossible to put into words. We have indeed strayed
outside the world of natural things,” he added.
“Why? " she murmured. “ I never felt more nat-
ural or normal in my life. I can assure you that I am
loving it. I feel like muslin gowns and primroses
and the scent of those first March violets underneath
a warm hedge where the sun comes sometimes. I feel
very natural indeed, Sir Timothy."


CHAPTER XXVIII
THERE was a great deal of discussion, the follow-
ing morning at the Sheridan Club, during the gossipy
half-hour which preceded luncheon, concerning Sir
Timothy Brast's forthcoming entertainment. One
of the men, Philip Baker, who had been for many
years the editor of a famous sporting weekly, had a
ticket of invitation which he displayed to an envious
little crowd.
“You fellows who get invitations to these par-
ties," a famous actor declared, “ are the most elusive
chaps on earth. Half London is dying to know what
really goes on there, and yet, if by any chance one
comes across a prospective or retrospective guest,
he is as dumb about it as though it were some Ma-
sonic function. We've got you this time, Baker,
though. We'll put you under the inquisition on Fri-
day morning."
“ There won't be any need," the other replied.
“ One hears a great deal of rot talked about these
affairs, but so far as I know, nothing very much
out of the way goes on. There are always one or
two pretty stiff fights in the gymnasium, and you
get the best variety show and supper in the world.”
“Why is there this aroma of mystery hanging
about the affair, then? " some one asked.
“Well, for one or two reasons,” Baker answered.
“ One, no doubt, is because Sir Timothy has a great
idea of arranging the fights himself, and the op-
Though 'unction about


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
227
probably spreads these rumours, for one always
hears it hinted that some disgraceful and illegal ex-
hibition is on tap there — a new sort of drugging
party, or some novel form of debauchery."
“I don't think,” Francis said quietly, “ that Sir
Timothy is quite that sort of man.”
“Dash it all, what sort of man is he? ” the actor
demanded. “They tell me that financially he is ut-
terly unscrupulous, although he is rolling in money.
He has the most Mephistophelian expression of any
man I ever met — looks as though he'd set his heel
on any one's neck for the sport of it - and yet they
say he has given at least fifty thousand pounds to
the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,
and that the whole of the park round that estate of
his down the river is full of lamed and decrepit
beasts which he has bought himself off the streets."
“ The man must have an interesting personality,"
a novelist who had joined the party observed. “ Of
course, you know that he was in prison for six
months? »
“What for?” some one asked.
“Murder, only they brought it in manslaughter,"
was the terse reply. “He killed his partner. It
was many years ago, and no one knows all the facts
of the story.”
“I am not holding a brief for Sir Timothy,” Fran-
cis remarked, as he sipped his cocktail. “As a mat-
ter of fact, he and I are very much at cross-purposes.
But as regards that particular instance, I am not
sure that he was very much to be blamed, any more
than you can blame any injured person who takes the
law into his own hands."


228 , THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“He isn't a man I should care to have for an
enemy," Baker declared.
“Well, we'll shake the truth out of you fellows,
somehow or other," one of the group threatened.
“ On Friday morning we are going to have the whole
truth — none of this Masonic secrecy which Baker
indulged in last year.”
The men drifted in to luncheon and Francis, leav-
ing them, took a taxi on to the Ritz. Looking about
in the vestibule for Margaret, he came face to face
with Lady Cynthia. She was dressed with her usual
distinction in a gown of yellow muslin and a beflow-
ered hat, and was the cynosure of a good many eyes.
“One would almost imagine, Lady Cynthia,” he
said, as they exchanged greetings, “ that you had
found that elixir we were talking about.”
“ Perhaps I have," she answered, smiling. “Are
you looking for Margaret? She is somewhere about.
We were just having a chat when I was literally car-
ried off by that terrible Lanchester woman. Let's
find her.”
They strolled up into the lounge. Margaret came
to meet them. Her smile, as she gave Francis her
left hand, transformed and softened her whole ap-
pearance.
“ You don't mind my having asked Cynthia to
lunch with us? ” she said. “I really couldn't get rid
of the girl. She came in to see me this morning —
the most aggressively cheerful person I ever knew. I
believe that she had an adventure last night. All
that she will tell me is that she dined and danced at
Claridge's with a party of the dullest people in
town."


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
229
A tall, familiar figure passed down the vestibule.
Lady Cynthia gave a little start, and Francis, who
happened to be watching her, was amazed at her ex-
pression.
“ Your father, Margaret!” she pointed out. “I
wonder if he is lunching here."
“ He told me that he was lunching somewhere with
a South American friend — one of his partners, I be-
lieve," Margaret replied. “I expect he is looking
for him."
Sir Timothy caught sight of them, hesitated for a
moment and came slowly in their direction.
“ Have you found your friend?" Margaret asked.
“The poor fellow is ill in bed,” her father an-
swered. “I was just regretting that I had sent the
car away, or I should have gone back to Hatch End.”
“ Stay and lunch with us,” Lady Cynthia begged,
a little impetuously
“I shall be very pleased if you will,” Francis put
in. “I'll go and tell the waiter to enlarge my table.”
He hurried off. On his way back, a page-boy
touched him on the arm.
“ If you please, sir," he announced, “ you are
wanted on the telephone.”
“I?” Francis exclaimed. “Some mistake, I
should think. Nobody knows that I am here."
“Mr. Ledsam,” the boy said. “This way, sir."
Francis walked down the vestibule to the row of
telephone boxes at the further end. The attendant
who was standing outside, indicated one of them and
motioned the boy to go away. Francis stepped in-
side. The man followed, closing the door behind him.
“I am asking your pardon, sir, for taking a great


230
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
liberty," he confessed. “No one wants you on the
telephone. I wished to speak to you."
Francis looked at him in surprise. The man was
evidently agitated. Somehow or other, his face was
vaguely familiar.
“Who are you, and what do you want with me?"
Francis asked.
“I was butler to Mr. Hilditch, sir,” the man re-
plied. “ I waited upon you the night you dined there,
sir — the night of Mr. Hilditch's death."
“ Well ? "
“ I have a revelation to make with regard to that
night, sir," the man went on," which I should like to
place in your hands. It is a very serious matter, and
there are reasons why something must be done about
it at once. Can I come and see you at your rooms,
sir? »
Francis studied the man for a moment intently.
He was evidently agitated — evidently, too, in very
bad health. His furtive manner was against him.
On the other hand, that might have arisen from nerv-
ousness.
“I shall be in at half-past three, number 13 b,
Clarges Street," Francis told him.
“I can get off for half-an-hour then, sir," the man
replied. “I shall be very glad to come. I must
apologise for having troubled you, sir.”
Francis went slowly back to his trio of guests.
All the way down the carpeted vestibule he was
haunted by the grim shadow of a spectral fear. The
frozen horror of that ghastly evening was before him
like a hateful tableau. Hilditch's mocking words
rang in his ears: My death is the one thing in the


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
231
world which would make my wife happy. The Court
scene, with all its gloomy tragedy, rose before his
eyes — only in the dock, instead of Hilditch, he saw
another!


CHAPTER XXIX
THERE were incidents connected with that luncheon
which Francis always remembered. In the first place,
Sir Timothy was a great deal more silent than usual.
A certain vein of half-cynical, half-amusing comment
upon things and people of the moment, which seemed,
whenever he cared to exert himself, to flow from his
lips without effort, had deserted him. He sat where
the rather brilliant light from the high windows fell
upon his face, and Francis wondered more than once
whether there were not some change there, perhaps
some prescience of trouble to come, which had sub-
dued him and made him unusually thoughtful. An-
other slighter but more amusing feature of the lunch-
eon was the number of people who stopped to shake
hands with Sir Timothy and made more or less
clumsy efforts to obtain an invitation to his coming
entertainment. Sir Timothy's reply to these various
hints was barely cordial. The most he ever promised
was that he would consult with his secretary and see
if their numbers were already full. Lady Cynthia,
as a somewhat blatant but discomfited Peer of the
Realm took his awkward leave of them, laughed
softly.
“Of course, I think they all deserve what they
get,” she declared. “I never heard such brazen im-
pudence in my life — from people who ought to know
better, too."
Lord Meadowson, a sporting peer, who was one of


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
233
Sir Timothy's few intimates, came over to the table.
He paid his respects to the two ladies and Francis,
and turned a little eagerly to Sir Timothy.
“Well?" he asked.
Sir Timothy nodded.
“We shall be quite prepared for you," he said.
“ Better bring your cheque-book.”
“ Capital!” the other exclaimed. “As I hadn't
heard anything, I was beginning to wonder whether
you would be ready with your end of the show."
“ There will be no hitch so far as we are con-
cerned," Sir Timothy assured him.
“More mysteries? " Margaret enquired, as Mead-
owson departed with a smile of satisfaction.
Her father shrugged his shoulders.
“ Scarcely that,” he replied. “It is a little wager
between Lord Meadowson and myself which is to be
settled to-morrow."
Lady Torrington, a fussy little woman, her hostess
of the night before, on her way down the room
stopped and shook hands with Lady Cynthia.
“Why, my dear,” she exclaimed, “ wherever did
you vanish to last night? Claude told us all that, in
the middle of a dance with him, you excused yourself
for a moment and he never saw you again. I quite
expected to read in the papers this morning that you
had eloped.”
“ Precisely what I did,” Lady Cynthia declared.
“ The only trouble was that my partner had had
enough of me before the evening was over, and de-
posited me once more in Grosvenor Square. It is
really very humiliating,” she went on meditatively,
“ how every one always returns me.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 235
prosecution of them. That is why such little inci-
dents as last night's generally remain undisclosed.
If you really wish to know what happened,” he went
on, after a moment's pause, “ I will tell you. As you
know, I have a great many friends amongst the box-
ing fraternity, and I happened to hear of a man
down in the East End who has made himself a terror
to the whole community in which he lives. I took
Peter Fields, my gymnasium instructor, down to the
East End last night, and Peter Fields — dealt with
him."
“ There was a fight? " Margaret exclaimed, with a
little shudder.
“ There was a fight," Sir Timothy repeated, “ if
you can call it such. Fields gave him some part of
the punishment he deserved.”
“ And you were there, Cynthia ? "
“I left Lady Cynthia in the car," Sir Timothy ex-
plained. “ She most improperly bribed my chauffeur
to lend her his coat and hat, and followed me."
“ You actually saw the fight, then?” Francis
asked.
“ I did," Lady Cynthia admitted." I saw it from
the beginning to the end."
Margaret looked across the table curiously. It
seemed to her that her friend had turned a little
paler.
“Did you like it?" she asked simply.
Lady Cynthia was silent for a moment. She
glanced at Sir Timothy. He, too, was waiting for
her answer with evident interest.
“I was thrilled,” she acknowledged. “ That was
the pleasurable part of it. I have been so used to


236
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
looking on at shows that bored me, listening to con-
versations that wearied me, attempting sensations
which were repellent, that I just welcomed feeling,
when it came — feeling of any sort. I was excited.
I forgot everything else. I was so fascinated that I
could not look away. But if you ask me whether I
liked it, and I have to answer truthfully, I hated it!
I felt nothing of the sort at the time, but when I tried
to sleep I found myself shivering. It was justice, I
know, but it was ugly.”
She watched Sir Timothy, as she made her confes-
sion, a little wistfully. He said nothing, but there
was a very curious change in his expression. He
smiled at her in an altogether unfamiliar way.
“I suppose,” she said, appealing to him, “ that
you are very disappointed in me?”
“On the contrary,” he answered, “I am de-
lighted.”
“ You mean that?” she asked incredulously.
“I do,” he declared. “ Companionship between
our sexes is very delightful so far as it goes, but the
fundamental differences between a man's outlook and
tastes and a woman's should never be bridged over.
I myself do not wish to learn to knit. I do not care
for the womenkind in whom I am interested to appre-
ciate and understand fighting.”
Margaret looked across the table in amazement.
“ You are most surprising this morning, father,"
she declared.
“I am perhaps misunderstood,” he sighed, “per-
haps have acquired a reputation for greater callous-
ness than I possess. Personally, I love fighting. I
was born a fighter, and I should find no happier way


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
23Y
of ending my life than fighting, but, to put it bluntly,
fighting is a man's job.”
“What about women going to see fights at the
National Sporting Club? " Lady Cynthia asked curi-
ously.
6 It is their own affair, but if you ask my opinion
I do not approve of it,” Sir Timothy replied. “I
am indifferent upon the subject, because I am indif-
ferent upon the subject of the generality of your
sex,” he added, with a little smile,“ but I simply hold
that it is not a taste which should be developed in
women, and if they do develop it, it is at the expense
of those very qualities which make them most at-
tractive.”
Lady Cynthia took a cigarette from her case and
leaned over to Francis for a light.
“ The world is changing,” she declared. “I can-
not bear many more shocks. I fancied that I had
written myself for ever out of Sir Timothy's good
books because of my confession just now.”
He smiled across at her. His words were words of
courteous badinage, but Lady Cynthia was conscious
of a strange little sense of pleasure.
“On the contrary,” he assured her, “ you found
your way just a little further into my heart.”
“ It seems to me, in a general sort of way,” Mar-
garet observed, leaning back in her chair, " that you
and my father are becoming extraordinarily friendly,
Cynthia.”
“I am hopefully in love with your father,” Lady
Cynthia confessed. “It has been coming on for a
long time. I suspected it the first time I ever met
him. Now I am absolutely certain.”


238
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ It's quite a new idea," Margaret remarked.
“ Shall we like her in the family, Francis?”
“ No airs!” Lady Cynthia warned her. “ You
two are not properly engaged yet. It may devolve
upon mne to give my consent.”
“ In that case," Prancis replied, “I hope that we
may at least count upon your influence with Sir
Timothy?”
“ If you'll return the compliment and urge my suit
with him," Lady Cynthia laughed. “I am afraid he
can't quite make up his mind about me, and I
am so nice. I haven't flirted nearly so much as
people think, and my instincts are really quite do-
mestic."
“My position,” Sir Timothy remarked, as he made
an unsuccessful attempt to possess himself of the bill
which Francis had called for, “is becoming a little
difficult.”
“Not really difficult,” Lady Cynthia objected,
“ because the real decision rests in your hands.”
“Just listen to the woman!” Margaret exclaimed.
“ Do you realise, father, that Cynthia is making the
most brazen advances to you? And I was going to
ask her if she'd like to come back to The Sanctuary
with us this evening!”
Lady Cynthia was suddenly eager. Margaret
glanced across at her father. Sir Timothy seemed
almost imperceptibly to stiffen a little.
“Margaret has carte blanche at The Sanctuary
as regards her visitors,” he said. “I am afraid that
I shall be busy over at The Walled House."
“But you'd come and dine with us?”
Sir Timothy hesitated. An issue which had been


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
239
looming in his mind for many hours seemed to be sud-
denly joined.
“ Please!” Lady Cynthia begged.
Sir Timothy followed the example of the others
and rose to his feet. He avoided Lady Cynthia's
eyes. He seemed suddenly a little tired.
“ I will come and dine,” he assented quietly. “I
am afraid that I cannot promise more than that.
Lady Cynthia, as she knows, is always welcome at
The Sanctuary."


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
243
moment blamed Margaret, but he had never for a
single moment forgotten. It was a closed chapter
but the stain was on its pages. It was wonderful to
tear it out and scatter the fragments.
“I remember you at the inquest,” he said. “Your
name is John Walter."
“ Yes, sir."
“ Your evidence was very different."
“ Yes, sir.”
«« You kept all this to yourself.”
“I did, sir. I thought it best.”
“ Tell me what has happened since ? "
The man looked down at the table.
“ I have always been a poor man, sir,” he said.
“ I have had bad luck whenever I've made a try to
start at anything. ' I thought there seemed a chance
for me here. I went to Sir Timothy and I told him
everything."
“ Well? ”
“ Sir Timothy never turned a hair, sir. When I
had finished he was very short with me, almost curt.
* You have behaved like a man of sense, Walter, he
said. How much?' I hesitated for some time.
Then I could see he was getting impatient. I dou-
bled what I had thought of first. “A thousand
pounds, sir,' I said. Sir Timothy he went to a safe
in the wall and he counted out a thousand pounds in
notes, there and then. He brought them over to me.
* Walter,' he said, there is your thousand pounds.
For that sum I understand you promise to keep what
you saw to yourself?' 'Yes, sir,' I agreed. "Take
it, then,' he said, “but I want you to understand this.
There have been many attempts but no one yet has


244
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
ETET succeeded in blackmailing me. No one ever will.
I give you this thousand pounds willingly. It is
what you have asked for. Never let me see your face
again. If you come to me starving, it will be useless.
I shall not part with another penny.'"
The man's simple way of telling his story, his
speech, slow and uneven on account of his faltering
breath, seemned all to add to the dramatic nature of
his disclosure. Francis found himself sitting like a
child who listens to a fairy story.
“ And then?” he asked simply.
“I went off with the money," Walter continued,
" and I had cruel bad luck. I put it into a pub. I
was robbed a little, I drank a little, my wife wasn't
any good. I lost it all, sir. I found myself desti-
tute. I went back to Sir Timothy."
“ Well?"
The man shifted his feet nervously. He seemed to
have come to the difficult part of his story.
“ Sir Timothy was as hard as nails,” he said
slowly. “He saw me. The moment I had finished,
he rang the bell. “Hedges," he said to the man-
servant who came in, 'this man has come here to try
and blackmail me. Throw him out. If he gives any
trouble, send for the police. If he shows himself here
again, send for the police.”
“ What happened then?”
“Well, I nearly blurted out the whole story,” the
man confessed, “and then I remembered that wouldn't
do me any good, so I went away. I got a job at the
Ritz, but I was took ill a few days afterwards. I
went to see a doctor. From him I got my death-
warrant, sir."


246
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“ I shouldn't do that, sir, I assure you," the man
declared nervously, “not on my solemn oath. I
want simply to be quit of the whole matter and have
a little money for the child.”
Francis considered for a moment.
“ There is only one way I can see,” he said, “ to
make this document worth the money to me. If you
will sign a confession that any statement you have
made as to the death of Mr. Hilditch is entirely im-
aginary, that you did not see Sir Timothy in the
house that night, that you went to bed at your usual
time and slept until you were awakened, and that you
only made this charge for the purpose of extorting
money — if you will sign a confession to that effect
and give it me with these papers, I will pay you the
two hundred pounds and I will never use the confes-
sion unless you repeat the charge.”
“ I'll do it, sir,” the man assented.
Francis drew up a document, which his visitor read
through and signed. Then he wrote out an open
cheque.
“My servant shall take you to the bank in a taxi,”
he said. “They would scarcely pay you this unless
you were identified. We understand one another?"
“ Perfectly, sir!”
Francis rang the bell, gave his servant the neces-
sary orders, and dismissed the two men. Half-an-
hour later, already changed into flannels, he was on
his way into the country.


CHAPTER XXXI
SIR TIMOTHY walked that evening amongst the
shadows. Two hours ago, the last of the workmen
from the great furnishing and catering establish-
ments who undertook the management of his famous
entertainments, had ceased work for the day and
driven off in the motor-brakes hired to take them to
the nearest town. The long, low wing whose use no
one was able absolutely to divine, was still full of ani-
mation, but the great reception-rooms and stately
hall were silent and empty. In the gymnasium, an
enormous apartment as large as an ordinary concert
hall, two or three electricians were still at work, di-
rected by the man who had accompanied Sir Timothy
to the East End on the night before. The former
crossed the room, his footsteps awaking strange
echoes.
“ There will be seating for fifty, sir, and standing
room for fifty,” he announced. “I have had the ring
slightly enlarged, as you suggested, and the lighting
is being altered so that the start is exactly north and
south.”
Sir Timothy nodded thoughtfully. The beautiful
oak floor of the place was littered with sawdust and
shavings of wood. Several tiers of seats had been
arranged on the space usually occupied by swings,
punching-balls and other artifices. On a slightly
raised dais at the further end was an exact replica
of a ring, corded around and with sawdust upon the


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
249
Sir Timothy nodded. Soon he left the house and
crossed the park towards The Sanctuary. He was
followed all the way by horses, of which there were
more than thirty in the great enclosure. One mare
greeted him with a neigh of welcome and plodded
slowly after him. Another pressed her nose against
his shoulder and walked by his side, with his hand
upon her neck. Sir Timothy looked a little nervously
around, but the park itself lay almost like a deep
green pool, unobserved, and invisible from anywhere
except the house itself. He spoke a few words to
each of the horses, and, producing his key, passed
through the door in the wall into The Sanctuary
garden, closing it quickly as he recognised Francis
standing under the cedar-tree. .
“Has Lady Cynthia arrived yet?” he enquired.
“Not yet,” Francis replied. “Margaret will be
here in a minute. She told me to say that cocktails
are here and that she has ordered dinner served on
the terrace.”
“ Excellent !” Sir Timothy murmured. “Let me
try one of your cigarettes."
“ Everything ready for the great show to-morrow
night?” Francis asked, as he served the cocktails.
“Everything is in order. I wonder, really," Sir
Timothy went on, looking at Francis curiously,
“ what you expect to see?”
“I don't think we any of us have any definite
idea,” Francis replied. “We have all, of course,
made our guesses.”
“ You will probably be disappointed,” Sir Timothy
warned him. “ For some reason or other — perhaps
I have encouraged the idea — people look upon my


CHAPTER XXXII
LADY CYNTHIA and Sir Timothy strolled after
dinner to the bottom of the lawn and watched the
punt which Francis was propelling turn from the
stream into the river.
“ Perfectly idyllic,” Lady Cynthia sighed.
“We have another punt,” her companion sug-
gested.
She shook her head.
“ I am one of those unselfish people," she declared,
“whose idea of repose is not only to rest oneself but
to see others rest. I think these two chairs, plenty
of cigarettes, and you in your most gracious and dis-
coursive mood, will fill my soul with content.”
“ Your decision relieves my mind,” her companion
declared, as he arranged the cushions behind her
back. “I rather fancy myself with a pair of sculls,
but a punt-pole never appealed to me. We will sit
here and enjoy the peace. To-morrow night you will
find it all disturbed — music and raucous voices and
the stampede of my poor, frightened horses in the
park. This is really a very gracious silence.”
"Are those two really going to marry?” Lady
Cynthia asked, moving her head lazily in the direc-
tion of the disappearing punt.
“I imagine so."
“ And you? What are you going to do then?”
“I am planning a long cruise. I telegraphed to
Southampton to-day. I am having my yacht pro-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
255
visioned and prepared. I think I shall go over to
South America.”
She was silent for a moment.
“ Alone? ” she asked presently.
“I am always alone,” he answered.
6. That is rather a matter of your own choice, is it
not?”
“Perhaps so. I have always found it hard to
make friends. Enemies seem to be more in my line.”
“I have not found it difficult to become your
friend,” she reminded him.
“You are one of my few successes,” he replied.
She leaned back with half-closed eyes. There was
nothing new about their environment — the clusters
of roses, the perfume of the lilies in the rock garden,
the even sweeter fragrance of the trim border of
mignonette. Away in the distance, the night was
made momentarily ugly by the sound of a gramo-
phone on a passing launch, yet this discordant note
seemed only to bring the perfection of present things
closer. Back across the velvety lawn, through the
feathery strips of foliage, the lights of The Sanctu-
ary, shaded and subdued, were dimly visible. The
dining-table under the cedar-tree had already been
cleared. Hedges, newly arrived from town to play
the major domo, was putting the finishing touches to
a little array of cool drinks. And beyond, dimly
seen but always there, the wall. She turned to him
suddenly.
“ You build a wall around your life,” she said,
“ like the wall which encircles your mystery house.
Last night I thought that I could see a little way
over the top. To-night you are different."


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
259
bitter reply. “ I'm not saying that you're not a
brave man, Sir Timothy, but there's such a thing as
being foolhardy, and that's what you are. I wasn't
asking you for half your fortune, nor even a dab of
it, but if your life wasn't worth a few hundred pounds
- you, with all that money - well, it wasn't worth
saving. So now you know. I've spent ninepence to
give you a chance to hop it, because I met a gent
who has been good to me. I've had a good dinner
and I feel merciful. So there you are.”
“Do I gather," Sir Timothy asked, in a perfectly
level tone, “ that the deed is already done?”
“It's already done and done thoroughly," was the
uncompromising answer. “ I'm not ringing up to
ask you to change your mind. If you were to offer
me five thousand now, or ten, I couldn't stop the bally
thing. You’ve a sporting chance of getting away if
you start at once. That's all there is to it."
“ You have nothing more to say?"
“Nothing! Only I wish to God I'd never stepped
into that Mayfair agency. I wish I'd never gone to
Mrs. Hilditch's as a temporary butler. I wish I'd
never seen any one of you! That's all. You can go
to Hell which way you like, only, if you take my ad-
vice, you'll go by the way of South America. The
scaffold isn't every man's fancy.” .
There was a burr of the instrument and then si-
lence. Sir Timothy carefully replaced the receiver,
paused on his way out of the room to smell a great
bowl of lavender, and passed back into the garden.
“More applicants for invitations? " Lady Cynthia
enquired lazily.
Her host smiled.


CHAPTER XXXIII
It would have puzzled anybody, except, perhaps,
Lady Cynthia herself, to have detected the slightest
alteration in Sir Timothy's demeanour during the
following day, when he made fitful appearances at
The Sanctuary, or at the dinner which was served a
little earlier than usual, before his final departure for
the scene of the festivities. Once he paused in the
act of helping himself to some dish and listened for a
moment to the sound of voices in the hall, and when a
taxicab drove up he set down his glass and again
betrayed some interest.
“ The maid with my frock, thank heavens!” Lady
Cynthia announced, glancing out of the window.
“My last anxiety is removed. I am looking for-
ward now to a wonderful night."
“ You may very easily be disappointed,” her host
warned her. “My entertainments appeal more, as a
rule, to men.”
“Why don't you be thoroughly original and issue
no invitations to women at all? ” Margaret enquired.
“ For the same reason that you adorn your rooms
and the dinner-table with flowers,” he answered.
“ One needs them as a relief. Apart from that, I
am really proud of my dancing-room, and there
again, you see, your sex is necessary.”
“We are flattered," Margaret declared, with a
Little bow. “ It does seem queer to think that you


262 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
should own what Cynthia's cousin, Davy Hinton,
once told me was the best foor in London, and that I
have never danced on it."
“Nor I," Lady Cynthia put in. “There might
have been some exouse for not asking you, Margaret,
but why an ultra-Bohemian like myself has had to
beg and plead for an invitation, I really cannot im-
agine.”
“ You might find,” Sir Timothy said, “ you may
even now — that some of my men guests are not
altogether to your liking.”
“Quite content to take my risk,” Lady Cynthia
declared cheerfully. “The man with the best man-
ners I ever met — it was at one of Maggie's studio
dances, too — was a bookmaker. And a retired
prize-fighter brought me home once from an Albert
Hall dance.”
“How did he behave?” Francis asked.
“ He was wistful but restrained,” Lady Cynthia
replied, " quite the gentleman, in fact.”
“ You encourage me to hope for the best,” Sir
Timothy said, rising to his feet. “You will excuse
me now? I have a few final preparations to
make.”
"Are we to be allowed," Margaret enquired, “ to
come across the park?”
“You would not find it convenient,” her father
assured her. “You had better order a car, say for
ten o'clock. Don't forget to bring your cards of
invitation, and find me immediately you arrive. I
wish to direct your proceedings to some extent.”
Lady Cynthia strolled across with him to the
postern-gate and stood by his side after he had


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
265
inflowing stream of guests, came once more across to
them.
“I am going to leave you, my honoured guests
from The Sanctuary," he said, with a faint smile,
“ to yourselves for a short time. In the room to
your left, supper is being served. In front is the
dancing-gallery. To the right, as you see, is the
lounge leading into the winter-garden. The gymna-
sium is closed until midnight. Any other part of the
place please explore at your leisure, but I am going
to ask you one thing. I want you to meet me in a
room which I will show you, at a quarter to twelve."
He led them down one of the corridors which
opened from the hall. Before the first door on the
right a man-servant was standing as though on sen-
try duty. Sir Timothy tapped the panel of the door
with his forefinger.
“ This is my sanctum,” he announced. “I allow
no one in here without special permission. I find it
useful to have a place to which one can come and rest
quite quietly sometimes. Williams here has no other
duty except to guard the entrance. Williams, you
will allow this gentleman and these two ladies to pass
in at a quarter to twelve.”
The man looked at them searchingly.
“ Certainly, sir," he said. “No one else?”
“No one, under any pretext.”
Sir Timothy hurried back to the hall, and the
others followed him in more leisurely fashion. They
were all three full of curiosity.
“I never dreamed," Margaret declared, as she
looked around her, “ that I should ever find myself
inside this house. It has always seemed to me like


266
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
one great bluebeard's chamber. If ever my father
spoke of it at all, it was as of a place which he in-
tended to convert into a sort of miniature Hell.”
Sir Timothy leaned back to speak to them as they
passed.
“You will find a friend over there, Ledsam,” he
said.
Wilmore turned around and faced them. The two
men exchanged somewhat surprised greetings.
“No idea that I was coming until this afternoon,"
Wilmore explained. “I got my card at five o'clock,
with a note from Sir Timothy's secretary. I am
racking my brains to imagine what it can mean.”
“We're all a little addled,” Francis confessed.
“ Come and join our tour of exploration. You know
Lady Cynthia. Let me present you to Mrs. Hil-
ditch."
The introduction was effected and they all strolled
on together. Margaret and Lady Cynthia led the
way into the winter-garden, a palace of glass, tall
palms, banks of exotics, flowering shrubs of every
description, and a fountain, with wonderfully carved
water nymphs, brought with its basin from Italy.
Hidden in the foliage, a small orchestra was playing
very softly. The atmosphere of the place was lan-
guorous and delicious.
“ Leave us here,” Margaret insisted, with a little
exclamation of content. “Neither Cynthia nor I
want to go any further. Come back and fetch us in
time for our appointment."
The two men wandered off. The place was indeed
a marvel of architecture, a country house, of which
only the shell remained, modernised and made won-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
267
derful by the genius of a great architect. The first
room which they entered when they left the winter-
garden, was as large as a small restaurant, panelled
in cream colour, with a marvellous ceiling. There
were tables of various sizes laid for supper, rows of
champagne bottles in ice buckets, and servants
eagerly waiting for orders. Already a sprinkling of
the guests had found their way here. The two men
crossed the floor to the cocktail bar in the far corner,
behind which a familiar face grinned at them. It
was Jimmy, the bartender from Soto's, who stood
there with a wonderful array of bottles on a walnut
table.
“ If it were not a perfectly fatuous question, I
should ask what you were doing here, Jimmy?"
Francis remarked.
“I always come for Sir Timothy's big parties,
sir,” Jimmy explained. “Your first visit, isn't it,
sir? »
“My first,” Francis assented.
“ And mine," his companion echoed.
“What can I have the pleasure of making for you,
sir? " the man enquired.
“A difficult question,” Francis admitted. “It is
barely an hour and a half since we finished dinner.
On the other hand, we are certainly going to have
some supper some time or other.”
Jimmy nodded understandingly.
“Leave it to me, sir,” he begged.
He served them with a foaming white concoction in
tall glasses. A genuine lime bobbed up and down in
the liquid.
“ Sir Timothy has the limes sent over from his own


268
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
estate in South America,” Jimmy announced. “ You
will find some things in that drink you don't often
taste.”
The two men sipped their beverage and pronounced
it delightful. Jimmy leaned a little across the
table.
“A big thing on to-night, isn't there, sir?” he
asked cautiously.
“ Is there?" Francis replied. “You mean ?"
Jimmy motioned towards the open window, close to
which the river was flowing by.
“ You going down, sir?"
Francis shook his head dubiously.
“Where to?"
The bartender looked with narrowed eyes from
one to the other of the two men. Then he suddenly
froze up. Wilmore leaned a little further over the
impromptu counter.
“ Jimmy,” he asked, “ what goes on here besides
dancing and boxing and gambling?"
“I never heard of any gambling," Jimmy an-
swered, shaking his head. “ Sir Timothy doesn't
care about cards being played here at all.”
“What is the principal entertainment, then?”
Francis demanded. “ The boxing?”
The bartender shook his head.
“No one understands very much about this house,
sir," he said, “ except that it offers the most wonder-
ful entertainment in Europe. That is for the guests
to find out, though. We servants have to attend to
our duties. Will you let me mix you another drink,
sir? »
“ No, thanks,” Francis answered. “The last was


270
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
Francis shrugged his shoulders.
“I have given up wondering,” he said. “Mar-
garet, do you hear that music? "
She laughed.
“Are we really to dance? ” she murmured. “ Do
you want to make a girl of me again?”
“Well, I shouldn't be a magician, should I? ” he
answered.
They passed into the ballroom and danced for
some time. The music was seductive and perfect,
without any of the blatant notes of too many of the
popular orchestras. The floor seemed to sway under
their feet.
“ This is a new joy come back into life!” Mar-
garet exclaimed, as they rested for a moment.
“ The first of many,” he assured her.
They stood in the archway between the winter-
garden and the dancing-gallery, from which they
could command a view of the passing crowds. Fran-
cis scanned the faces of the men and women with in-
tense interest. Many of them were known to him by
sight, others were strangers. There was a judge, a
Cabinet Minister, various members of the aristoc-
racy, a sprinkling from the foreign legations, and
although the stage was not largely represented, there
were one or two well-known actors. The guests
seemed to belong to no universal social order, but to
Francis, watching them almost eagerly, they all
seemed to have something of the same expression, the
same slight air of weariness, of restless and unsatis-
fied desires.
“I can't believe that the place is real, or that these
people we see are not supers,” Margaret whispered.


272
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
me show you something. It may amuse you as it has
done me.”
The three moved back towards one of the arched
openings which led into the ballroom.
“ Observe, if you please,” their host continued,
“ the third couple who pass us. The girl is wearing
green — the very little that she does wear. Watch
the man, and see if he reminds you of any one."
Francis did as he was bidden. The girl was a well-
known member of the chorus of one of the principal
musical comedies, and she seemed to be thoroughly
enjoying both the dance and her partner. The lat-
ter appeared to be of a somewhat ordinary type, sal-
low, with rather puffy cheeks, and eyes almost un-
naturally dark. He danced vigorously and he talked
all the time. Something about him was vaguely fa-
miliar to Francis, but he failed to place him.
“Notwithstanding all my precautions," Sir Timo-
thy continued, “ there, fondly believing himself to be
unnoticed, is an emissary of Scotland Yard. Really,
of all the obvious, the dry-as-dust, hunt-your-crimi-
nal-by-rule-of-three kind of people I ever met, the
class of detective to which this man belongs can pro-
duce the most blatant examples.”
“What are you going to do about him? ” Francis
asked.
Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders.
“I have not yet made up my mind," he said. “I
happen to know that he has been laying his plans for
weeks to get here, frequenting Soto's and other res-
taurants, and scraping acquaintances with some of
my friends. The Duke of Tadchester brought him
- won a few hundreds from him at baccarat, I sup-


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
273
pose. His grace will never again find these doors
open to him.”
Francis' attention had wandered. He was gazing
fixedly at the man whom Sir Timothy had pointed
out.
“ You still do not fully recognise our friend,” the
latter observed carelessly. “He calls himself Man-
uel Loito, and he professes to be a Cuban. His real
name I understood, when you introduced us, to be
Shopland.”
“Great heavens, so it is!” Francis exclaimed.
“ Let us leave him to his precarious pleasures,” Sir
Timothy suggested. “I am free for a few moments.
We will wander round together."
They found Lady Cynthia and Wilmore, and
looked in at the supper-room, where people were
waiting now for tables, a babel of sound and gaiety.
The grounds and winter-gardens were crowded.
Their guide led the way to a large apartment on the
other side of the hall, from which the sound of music
was proceeding
“My theatre,” he said. “I wonder what is go-
ing on.”
They passed inside. There was a small stage with
steps leading down to the floor, easy-chairs and
round tables everywhere, and waiters serving refresh-
ments. A girl was dancing. Sir Timothy watched
her approvingly.
“ Nadia Ellistoff," he told them. “ She was in the
last Russian ballet, and she is waiting now for the
rest of the company to start again at Covent Garden.
You see, it is Metzger who plays there. They im-
provise. Rather a wonderful performance, I think.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
277
are here to fight. They use sometimes an illegal
weight of glove and they sometimes hurt one another.
If any two of the boxing fraternity have a grudge
against one another, and that often happens, they
are permitted here to fight it out, under the strictest
control as regards fairness, but practically without
gloves at all. You heard of the accident, for in-
stance, to Norris? That happened in my gymnasium.
He was knocked out by Burgin. It was a wonderful
fight.
“However, I pass on. There is another class of
contest which frequently takes place here. Two box-
ers place themselves unreservedly in my hands. The
details of the match are arranged without their
knowledge. They come into the ring without know-
ing whom they are going to fight. Sometimes they
never know, for my men wear masks. Then we have
private matches. There is one to-night. Lord
Meadowson and I have a wager of a thousand
guineas. He has brought to-night from the East
End a boxer who, according to the terms of our bet,
has never before engaged in a professional contest.
I have brought an amateur under the same condi-
tions. The weight is within a few pounds the same,
neither has ever seen the other, only in this case the
fight is with regulation gloves and under Queensberry
rules.”
“Who is your amateur, Sir Timothy? " Wilmore
asked harshly.
“ Your brother, Mr. Wilmore," was the prompt
reply. “You shall see the fight if I have your prom-
ise not to attempt in any way to interfere.”
Wilmore rose to his feet.


278 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
“Do you mean to tell me,” he demanded, “ that
my brother has been decoyed here, kept here against
his will, to provide amusement for your guests?"
“ Mr. Wilmore, I beg that you will be reasonable,”
Sir Timothy expostulated. “I saw your brother
box at his gymnasium in Holborn. My agent made
him the offer of this fight. One of my conditions had
to be that he came here to train and that whilst he
was here he held no communication whatever with the
outside world. My trainer has ideas of his own and
this he insists upon. Your brother in the end
acquiesced. He was at first difficult to deal with as
regards this condition, and he did, in fact, I believe,
Mr. Ledsam, pay a visit to your office, with the ob-
ject of asking you to become an intermediary between
him and his relatives.”
“He began a letter to me,” Francis interposed,
“ and then mysteriously disappeared."
“ The mystery is easily explained,” Sir Timothy
continued. “My trainer, Roger Hagon, a Varsity
blue, and the best heavyweight of his year, occupies
the chambers above yours. He saw from the window
the arrival of Reginald Wilmore — which was ac-
cording to instructions, as they were to come down
to Hatch End together — went down the stairs to
meet him, and, to cut a long story short, fetched him
out of your office, Ledsam, without allowing him to
finish his letter. This absolute isolation seems a curi-
ous condition, perhaps, but Hagon insists upon it,
and I can assure you that he knows his business.
The mystery, as you have termed it, of his disap-
pearance that morning, is that he went upstairs with
Hagon for several hours to undergo a medical ex-


280
THE EVIL SHEPHERD
I am going to ask you, Lady Cynthia, and you,
Ledsam, to witness it. When you have seen that,
you know everything. Then you and I, Ledsam, can
call one another's hands. I shall have something
else to say to you, but that is outside the doings
here."
“ Are we to see the fight in the gymnasium? " Lady
Cynthia enquired.
Sir Timothy shook his head.
* I do not allow women there under any condi-
tions,” he said. “You and Margaret had better
stay here whilst that takes place. It will probably
be over in twenty minutes. It will be time then for
us to find our way to the launch. After that, if you
have any appetite, supper. I will order some caviare
sandwiches for you,” Sir Timothy went on, ringing
the bell, “ and some wine."
Lady Cynthia smiled.
“ It is really a very wonderful party," she mur-
mured.
Their host ushered the two men across the hall,
now comparatively deserted, for every one had set-
tled down to his or her chosen amusement — down a
long passage, through a private door which he un-
locked with a Yale key, and into the gymnasium.
There were less than fifty spectators seated around
the ring, and Francis, glancing at them hastily,
fancied that he recognised nearly every one of them.
There was Baker, a judge, a couple of actors, Lord
Meadowson, the most renowned of sporting peers,
and a dozen who followed in his footsteps; a little
man who had once been amateur champion in the
bantam class, and who was now considered the finest


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
281
judge of boxing in the world; a theatrical manager,
the present amateur boxing champion, and a sprin-
kling of others. Sir Timothy and his companions
took their chairs amidst a buzz of welcome. Almost
immediately, the man who was in charge of the pro-
ceedings, and whose name was Harrison, rose from
his place.
“ Gentlemen,” he said, “ this is a sporting contest,
but one under usual rules and usual conditions. An
amateur, who tips the scales at twelve stone seven,
who has never engaged in a boxing contest in his
life, is matched against a young man from a different
sphere of life, who intends to adopt the ring as his
profession, but who has never as yet fought in pub-
lic. Names, gentlemen, as you know, are seldom
mentioned here. I will only say that the first in the
ring is the nominee of our friend and host, Sir Tim-
othy Brast; second comes the nominee of Lord
Meadowson.”
Wilmore, notwithstanding his pre-knowledge, gave
a little gasp. The young man who stood now within
a few yards of him, carelessly swinging his gloves in
his hand, was without a doubt his missing brother.
He looked well and in the pink of condition; not only
well but entirely confident and at his ease. His op-
ponent, on the other hand, a sturdier man, a few
inches shorter, was nervous and awkward, though
none the less determined-looking. Sir Timothy rose
and whispered in Harrison's ear. The latter nodded.
In a very few moments the preliminaries were con-
cluded, the fight begun.


CHAPTER XXXV.
FRANCIS, glad of a moment or two's solitude in
which to rearrange his somewhat distorted sensations,
found an empty space in the stern of the launch and
stood leaning over the rail. His pulses were still
tingling with the indubitable excitement of the last
half-hour. It was all there, even now, before his
eyes like a cinematograph picture — the duel be-
tween those two men, a duel of knowledge, of
strength, of science, of courage. From beginning to
end, there had been no moment when Francis had
felt that he was looking on at what was in any way
a degrading or immoral spectacle. Each man had
fought in his way to win. Young Wilmore, graceful
as a panther, with a keen, joyous desire of youth
for supremacy written in his face and in the dogged
lines of his mouth; the budding champion from the
East End less graceful, perhaps, but with even more
strength and at least as much determination, had
certainly done his best to justify his selection.
There were no points to be scored. There had been
no undue feinting, no holding, few of the tricks of
the professional ring. It was a fight to a finish, or
until Harrison gave the word. And the better man
had won. But even that knock-out blow which Reggie
Wilmore had delivered after a wonderful feint, had
had little that was cruel in it. There was something
beautiful almost in the strength and grace with


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
283
which it had been delivered - the breathless eager-
ness, the waiting, the end.
Francis felt a touch upon his arm and looked
around. A tall, sad-faced looking woman, whom he
had noticed with a vague sense of familiarity in the
dancing-room, was standing by his side.
“ You have forgotten me, Mr. Ledsam,” she said.
“For the moment,” he admitted.
« I am Isabel Culbridge,” she told him, watching
his face.
“ Lady Isabel ? ” Francis repeated incredulously.
6 But surely - "
“ Better not contradict me," she interrupted.
“Look again.”
Francis looked again.
“I am very sorry,” he said. “It is some time, is.
it not, since we met?”
She stood by his side, and for a few moments
neither of them spoke. The little orchestra in the
bows had commenced to play softly, but there was
none of the merriment amongst the handful of men
and women generally associated with a midnight
river picnic. The moon was temporarily obscured,
and it seemed as though some artist's hand had so
dealt with the few electric lights that the men, with
their pale faces and white shirt-fronts, and the three
or four women, most of them, as it happened, wear-
ing black, were like some ghostly figures in some
sombre procession. Only the music kept up the pre-
tence that this was in any way an ordinary excur-
sion. Amongst the human element there was an air
of tenseness which seemed rather to increase as they
passed into the shadowy reaches of the river.


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
285
welcome. I have only one method of dealing with
uninvited ones.”
The two men suddenly stepped forward. Shop-
land made no protest, attempted no struggle. They
lifted him off his feet as though he were a baby, and
a moment later there was a splash in the water.
They threw a life-belt after him.
“ Always humane, you see,” Sir Timothy remarked,
as he leaned over the side. “Ah! 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 de-
tective, disdaining the life-belt, swim to the opposite
shore.
“I suppose that under the circumstances,” Fran-
cis said, “ he was prepared to take his risk.”
“ You should know best about that,” Sir Timothy
rejoined. “I wonder whether you would mind look-
ing after Lady Cynthia ? I shall be busy for a few
moments.”
Francis stepped across the deck towards where
Lady Cynthia had been sitting by her host's side.
They had passed into the mouth of a tree-hung strip
of the river. The engine was suddenly shut off. A
gong was sounded. There was a murmur, almost a
sob of relief, as the little sprinkling of men and
women rose hastily to their feet and made their way
towards the companion-way. Downstairs, in the
saloon, with its white satinwood panels and rows of


THE EVIL SHEPHERD
289
nes
amount. I understand you have a little quarrel to
fight out. The one who wins will naturally help him-
self to the other's money, together with that other
little reward which I imagine was the first cause of
your quarrel. Now ... let them go.”
Sir Timothy resumed his seat and leaned back in
leisurely fashion. The two attendants solemnly re-
leased their captives. There was a moment's in-
tense silence. The two men seemed fencing for posi-
tion. There was something stealthy and horrible
about their movements as they crept around one an-
other. Francis realised what it was almost as the
little sobbing breath from those of the audience who
still retained any emotion, showed him that they, too,
foresaw what was going to happen. Both men had
drawn knives from their belts. It was murder which
had been let loose.
Francis found himself almost immediately upon his
feet. His whole being seemed crying out for inter-
ference. Lady Cynthia's death-white face and plead-
ing eyes seemed like the echo of his own passionate
aversion to what was taking place. Then he met
Sir Timothy's gaze across the room and he remem-
bered his promise. Under no conditions was he to
protest or interfere. He set his teeth and resumed
his seat. The fight went on. There were little sobs
and tremors of excitement, strange banks of silence.
Both men seemed out of condition. The sound of
their hoarse breathing was easily heard against the
curtain of spellbound silence. For a time their
knives stabbed the empty air, but from the first the
end seemed certain. The Englishman attacked
wildly. His adversary waited his time, content with
ed
Tes


300 THE EVIL SHEPHERD
me, 'I am going to settle accounts with Bidlake.'
• Where?' I asked. “Here,' he answered. He went
out to the theatre, I upstairs to dine. That was the
extent of the knowledge I possessed which enabled me
to predict some unwonted happening that night.
Fairfax was a bedrugged and bedrunken decadent
who had not the courage afterwards to face what he
had done. That is all.”
The hand slipped from Francis' shoulder. Fran-
cis, with a smile, held out his own. They stood there
for a moment with clasped hands — a queer, de-
tached moment, as it seemed to Francis, in a life
which during the last few months had been full of
vivid sensations. From outside came the lazy sounds
of the drowsy summer morning — the distant hum-
ming of a mowing machine, the drone of a reaper in
the field beyond, the twittering of birds in the trees,
even the soft lapping of the stream against the stone
steps. The man whose hand he was holding seemed
to Francis to have become somehow transformed. It
was as though he had dropped a mask and were show-
ing a more human, a more kindly self. Francis won-
dered no longer at the halting gallop of the horses
in the field.
“ You'll be good to Margaret? ” Sir Timothy
begged. “ She's had a wretched time.”
Francis smiled confidently.
“ I'm going to make up for it, sir,” he promised.
“And this South American trip,” he continued, as
they turned towards the French windows, “ you'll
call that off?”
Sir Timothy hesitated.
“I am not quite sure.”


THE EVIL SHEPHERD 303
# There is nothing in life,” Lady Cynthia mur-
mured brokenly, “ so wonderful as this."
Francis and Margaret came out from the house,
the former carrying a silver tray. They had spent
a considerable time over their task, but Lady Cynthia
and Sir Timothy were still absent. Hedges followed
them, a little worried.
“ Shall I ring the gong, madam?” he asked Mar-
garet. “ Cook has taken such pains with her
omelette.”
“I think you had better, Hedges,” Margaret as-
sented.
The gong rang out — and rang again. Presently
Lady Cynthia and Sir Timothy appeared upon the
bridge and crossed the lawn. They were walking a
little apart. Lady Cynthia was looking down at
some roses which she had gathered. Sir Timothy's
unconcern seemed a trifle overdone. Margaret
laughed very softly.
“A stepmother, Francis !” she whispered. “ Just
fancy Cynthia as a stepmother!”
THE END