it was you who
first pointed out Sir Timothy as an interesting study for my profession,
but that was a matter of months ago. If you will forgive my saying so,
your relations with Sir Timothy have altered since then. You have been
his guest at The Sanctuary, and there is a rumour, sir--you will pardon
me if I seem to be taking a liberty--that you are engaged to be married
to his daughter, Oliver Hilditch's widow."

"You seem to be tolerably well informed as to my affairs, Shopland,"
Francis remarked.

"Only so far as regards your associations with Sir Timothy," was the
deprecating reply. "If you will excuse me, sir, this is where I should
like to descend."

"You have no message for Mr. Wilmore, then?" Francis asked.

"Nothing definite, sir, but you can assure him of this. His brother
is not likely to come to any particular harm. I have no absolute
information to offer, but it is my impression that Mr. Reginald Wilmore
will be home before a week is past. Good afternoon, sir."

Shopland stepped out of the taxicab and, raising his hat, walked quickly
away. Francis directed the man to drive to Clarges Street. As they drove
off, he was conscious of a folded piece of paper in the corner where
his late companion had been seated. He picked it up, opened it, realised
that it was a letter from a firm of lawyers, addressed to Shopland, and
deliberately read it through. It was dated from a small town not far
from Hatch End:

DEAR SIR:

Mr. John Phillips of this firm, who is coroner for the
district, has desired me to answer the enquiry contained in your
official letter of the 13th. The number of inquests held upon bodies
recovered from the Thames in the neighbourhood to which you allude,
during the present year has been seven. Four of these have been
identified. Concerning the remaining three nothing has ever been heard.
Such particulars as are on our file will be available to any accredited
representative of the police at any time.

Faithfully yours,
PHILLIPS & SON.

The taxicab came to a sudden stop. Francis glanced up. Very breathless,
Shopland put his head in at the window.

"I dropped a letter," he gasped.

Francis folded it up and handed it to him.

"What about these three unidentified people, Shopland?" he asked,
looking at him intently.

The man frowned angrily. There was a note of defiance in his tone as he
stowed the letter away in his pocke