“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 persisted, “as to where she has gone and for what purpose?”

“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 ingenuous 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.”

“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 abducting or imprisoning or in any way laying my criminal hand upon this young man?”

“None whatever that we have been able to discover 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 myself,” 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 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—­”