sings, and my
daughter is alone. You will excuse me."

Francis nodded silently. His companion's careless words had brought a
sudden dazzling vision into his mind. Sir Timothy scrawled his name at
the foot of his bill.

"It is one of my axioms in life, Mr. Ledsam," he continued, "that there
is more pleasure to be derived from the society of one's enemies than
one's friends. If I thought you sufficiently educated in the outside
ways of the world to appreciate this, I would ask if you cared to
accompany me?"

Francis did not hesitate for a moment.

"Sir Timothy," he said, "I have the greatest detestation for you, and I
am firmly convinced that you represent all the things in life abhorrent
to me. On the other hand, I should very much like to hear the last act
of 'Louise,' and it would give me the greatest pleasure to meet your
daughter. So long as there is no misunderstanding."

Sir Timothy laughed.

"Come," he said, "we will get our hats. I am becoming more and more
grateful to you, Mr. Ledsam. You are supplying something in my life
which I have lacked. You appeal alike to my sense of humour and my
imagination. We will visit the opera together."

CHAPTER XV

The two men left Soto's together, very much in the fashion of two
ordinary acquaintances sallying out to spend the evening together. Sir
Timothy's Rolls-Royce limousine was in attendance, and in a few minutes
they were threading the purlieus of Covent Garden. It was here that an
incident occurred which afforded Francis considerable food for thought
during the next few days.

It was a Friday night, and one or two waggons laden with vegetable
produce were already threading their way through the difficult
thoroughfares. Suddenly Sir Timothy, who was looking out of the
window, pressed the button of the car, which was at once brought to a
standstill. Before the footman could reach the door Sir Timothy was out
in the street. For the first time Francis saw him angry. His eyes
were blazing. His voice--Francis had followed him at once into the
street--shook with passion. His hand had fallen heavily upon the
shoulder of a huge carter, who, with whip in hand, was belabouring a
thin scarecrow of a horse.

"What the devil are you doing?" Sir Timothy demanded.

The man stared at his questioner, and the instinctive antagonism of
race vibrated in his truculent reply. The carter was a beery-faced,
untidy-looking brute, but powerfully built and with huge shoulde