Margaret and Francis exchanged glances.

“Sir Timothy may change his mind,” the latter observed.  “I have news for him directly he arrives.”

On the other side of the wall they heard the whinnying of the old mare, the sound of galloping feet from all directions.

“Here he comes!” Lady Cynthia exclaimed.  “I shall go and meet him.”

Francis laid his hand upon her arm.

“Let me have a word with him first,” he begged.

She hesitated.

“You are not going to say anything—­that will make him want to go away?”

“I am going to tell him something which I think will keep him at home.”

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.”