Sir Timothy came through the postern-gate, a moment or two later. He waved his hat and crossed the lawn in their direction. Francis went alone to meet him and, as he drew near, was conscious of a little shock. His host, although he held himself bravely, seemed to have aged in the night. “I want one word with you, sir, in your study, please,” Francis said. Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders and led the way. He turned to wave his hand once more to Margaret and Lady Cynthia, however, and he looked with approval at the luncheon-table which a couple of servants were laying under the cedar tree. “Wonderful thing, these alfresco meals,” he declared. “I hope Hedges won't forget the maraschino with the melons. Come into my den, Ledsam.” He led the way in courtly fashion. He was the ideal host leading a valued guest to his sanctum for a few moments' pleasant conversation. But when they arrived in the little beamed room and the door was closed, his manner changed. He looked searchingly, almost challengingly at Francis. “You have news for me?” he asked. “Yes!” Francis answered. Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders. He threw himself a little wearily into an easy-chair. His hands strayed out towards a cigarette box. He selected one and lit it. “I expected your friend, Mr. Shopland,” he murmured. “I hope he is none the worse for his ducking.” “Shopland is a fool,” Francis replied. “He has nothing to do with this affair, anyway. I have something to give you, Sir Timothy.” He took the two papers from his pocket and handed them over. “I bought these from John Walter the day before yesterday,” he continued. “I gave him two hundred pounds for them. The money was just in time. He caught a steamer for Australia late in the afternoon. I had this wireless from him this morning.” Sir Timothy studied the two documents, read the wireless. There was little change in his face. Only for a single moment his lips quivered. “What does this mean?” he asked, rising to his feet with the documents in his hand. “It means that those papers are yours to do what you like with. I drafted the second one so that you should be absolutely secure against any further attempt at blackmail. As a matter of fact, though, Walter is on his last legs. I doubt whether he will live to land in Australia.” “You know that I killed Oliver Hilditch?” Sir Timothy said, his eyes fixed upon the other's. “I know that you killed Oliver Hilditch,” Francis repeated. “If I had been Margaret's father, I think that I should have done the same.” Sir Timothy seemed suddenly very much younger. The droop of his lips was no longer pathetic. There was a little humourous twitch there. “You, the great upholder of the law?” he murmured. “I have heard the story of Oliver Hilditch's life,” Francis replied. “I was partially responsible for saving him from the gallows. I repeat what I have said. And if you will--”