The detective came a little further into the light.  He was attired in an ill-fitting dinner suit, a soft-fronted shirt of unpleasing design, a collar of the wrong shape, and a badly arranged tie.  He seemed, nevertheless, very pleased with himself.

“I came on here, Mr. Ledsam, at Sir Timothy’s desire,” he said.  “I should like you to understand,” he added, with a covert glance of warning, “that I have been devoting every effort, during the last few days, to the discovery of your friend’s brother, Mr. Reginald Wilmore.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” Francis replied shortly.  “The boy’s brother is one of my greatest friends.”

“I have come to the conclusion,” the detective pronounced, “that the young man has been abducted, and is being detained at The Walled House against his will for some illegal purpose.”

“In other respects,” Sir Timothy said, stretching out his hand towards a cedar-wood box of cigarettes and selecting one, “this man seems quite sane.  I have watched him very closely on the way here, but I could see no signs of mental aberration.  I do not think, at any rate, that he is dangerous.”

“Sir Timothy,” Shopland explained, with some 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 harmless and worthy young man from his regular avocation, 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 naturally 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 concerned 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 Timothy, 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 magistrates for a search warrant.”

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?”