The Evil Shepherd Part 20

"We came to ask whether you happen to remember his being here on that evening, and whether he gave any one here any indication of his future movements. 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 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 ventured.

"I don't notice what spirits my pupils are in," the man answered, a little insolently. "There was nothing 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. Enquiries 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 b.u.t.ton 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."

"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 manager'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 downwards. 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 afternoon 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 a.s.s."

At six o'clock that evening Francis turned his two-seater into a winding drive bordered with rhododendrons, and pulled up before the porch of a charming two-storied bungalow, covered with creepers, and with French-windows opening from every room onto the lawns. A man-servant who had heard the approach 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 c.o.c.ktail 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 apparently 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 a.s.sented. "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 evening."

"Lady Cynthia's reminder is perhaps a little unfortunate," Sir Timothy observed. "Mr. Ledsam is no longer the last hope of the enterprising criminal. He has turned over a new leaf. To secure the services 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, anyway," she added, accepting the c.o.c.ktail 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 impression."

"Try her with a punt and a concertina after dinner," Lady Cynthia suggested. "After all, I came down here to better my acquaintance with my host. You flirted with me disgracefully when I was a debutante, and have never taken any notice of me since. I hate infidelity in a man. Sir Timothy, I shall devote 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 c.o.c.ktail appreciatively.

"I wonder how it is," she observed, "that in these days, although we have become callous to everything else in life, c.o.c.ktails 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 cus.h.i.+ons 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 remember 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 pa.s.sed 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 regard to any definite period of architecture, and yet to have attained a certain coherency--a far-reaching 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 surrept.i.tiously, affecting not to notice the approach of other animals from all quarters.