"Quite right, sir," the detective acquiesced, "and I am grateful to you. The fact of it is that in making my preliminary investigations with regard to the disappearance of Mr. Wilmore, I have stumbled upon a bigger thing. Before many weeks are past, I hope to be able to unearth one of the greatest scandals of modern times."

"The devil!" Francis muttered.

He looked thoughtfully, almost anxiously at his companion. Shopland's face reflected to the full his usual confidence. He had the air of a man buoyant with hope and with stifled self-satisfaction.

"I am engaged," he continued, "upon a study of the methods and habits of one whom I believe to be a great criminal. I think that when I place my prisoner in the bar, Wainwright and these other great artists in crime will fade from the memory."

"Is Sir Timothy Brast your man?" Francis asked quietly.

His companion frowned portentously.

"No names," he begged.

"Considering that it was I who first put you on to him," Francis expostulated, "I don't think you need be so sparing of your confidence."

"Mr. Ledsam," the detective a.s.sured him, "I shall tell you everything that is possible. At the same time, I will be frank with you. You are right when you say that it was you who first directed my attention towards Sir Timothy Brast. Since that time, however, your own relations with him, to an onlooker, have become a little puzzling."

"I see," Francis murmured. "You've been spying on me?"

Shopland shook his head in deprecating fashion.

"A study of Sir Timothy during the last month," he said, "has brought you many a time into the focus."

"Where are we going to now?" Francis asked, a little abruptly.

"Just a side show, sir. It's one of those outside things I have come across which give light and shade to the whole affair. We get out here, if you please."

The two men stepped on to the pavement. They were in a street a little north of Wardour Street, where the shops for the most part were of a miscellaneous variety. Exactly in front of them, the s.p.a.ce behind a large plate-gla.s.s window had been transformed into a sort of show-place for dogs. There were twenty or thirty of them there, of all breeds and varieties.

"What the mischief is this?" Francis demanded.

"Come in and make enquiries," Shopland replied. "I can promise that you will find it interesting. It's a sort of dog's home."

Francis followed his companion into the place. A pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman came forward and greeted the latter.

"Do you mind telling my friend what you told me the other day?" he asked.

"Certainly, sir," she replied. "We collect stray animals here, sir,"

she continued, turning to Francis. "Every one who has a dog or a cat he can't afford to keep, or which he wants to get rid of, may bring it to us. We have agents all the time in the streets, and if any official of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals brings us news of a dog or a cat being ill-treated, we either purchase it or acquire it in some way or other and keep it here."

"But your dogs in the window," Francis observed, "all seem to be in wonderful condition."

The woman smiled.

"We have a large dog and cat hospital behind," she explained, "and a veterinary surgeon who is always in attendance. The animals are treated there as they are brought in, and fed up if they are out of condition.

When they are ready to sell, we show them."

"But is this a commercial undertaking," Francis enquired carefully, "or is it a branch of the S.P.C.A.?"

"It's quite a private affair, sir," the woman told him. "We charge only five shillings for the dogs and half-a-crown for the cats, but every one who has one must sign our book, promising to give it a good home, and has to be either known to us or to produce references. We do not attempt, of course, to snake a profit."

"Who on earth is responsible for the upkeep?"

"We are not allowed to mention any names here, sir, but as a matter of fact I think that your friend knows. He met the gentleman in here one day. Would you care to have a look at the hospital, sir?"

Francis spent a quarter of an hour wandering around. When they left the place, Shopland turned to him with a smile.

"Now, sir," he said, "shall I tell you at whose expense that place is run?"

"I think I can guess," Francis replied. "I should say that Sir Timothy Brast was responsible for it."

The detective nodded. He was a little disappointed.

"You know about his collection of broken-down horses in the park at The Walled House, too, then, I suppose? They come whinnying after him like a flock of sheep whenever he shows himself."

"I know about them, too," Francis admitted. "I was present once when he got out of his car, knocked a carter down who was ill-treating a horse, bought it on the spot and sent it home."

Shopland smiled, inscrutably yet with the air of one vastly pleased.

"These little side-shows," he said, "are what help to make this, which I believe will be the greatest case of my life, so supremely interesting.

Any one of my fraternity," he continued, with an air of satisfaction, "can take hold of a thread and follow it step by step, and wind up with the handcuffs, as I did myself with the young man Fairfax. But a case like this, which includes a study of temperament, requires something more."

They were seated once more in the taxicab, on their way westward.

Francis for the first time was conscious of an utterly new sensation with regard to his companion. He watched him through half-closed eyes--an insignificant-looking little man whose clothes, though neat, were ill-chosen, and whose tie was an offense. There was nothing in the face to denote unusual intelligence, but the eyes were small and cunning and the mouth dogged. Francis looked away out of the window. A sudden flash of realisation had come to him, a wave of unreasoning but positive dislike.

"When do you hope to bring your case to an end?" he asked.

The man smiled once more, and the very smile irritated his companion.

"Within the course of the next few days, sir," he replied.

"And the charge?"

The detective turned around.

"Mr. Ledsam," he said, "we have been old friends, if you will allow me to use the word, ever since I was promoted to my present position in the Force. You have trusted me with a good many cases, and I acknowledge myself your debtor, but in the matter of Sir Timothy Brast, you will forgive my saying with all respect, sir, that our ways seem to lie a little apart."

"Will you tell me why you have arrived at that conclusion?" Francis asked. "It was I who first incited you to set a watch upon Sir Timothy.

It was to you I first mentioned certain suspicions I myself had with regard to him. I treated you with every confidence. Why do you now withhold yours from me?"

"It is quite true, Mr. Ledsam," Shopland admitted, "that 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 a.s.sociations 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.