e was a little oppressive.

"Will you dine with me at Hatch End to-night?" he asked. "My daughter
and I will be alone."

"I should be delighted," Francis replied promptly. "I ought to tell you,
perhaps, that I have called three times upon your daughter but have not
been fortunate enough to find her at home."

Sir Timothy was politely apologetic.

"I fear that my daughter is a little inclined to be morbid," he
confessed. "Society is good for her. I will undertake that you are a
welcome guest."

"At what time do I come and how shall I find your house?" Francis
enquired.

"You motor down, I suppose?" Sir Timothy observed. "Good! In Hatch End
any one will direct you. We dine at eight. You had better come down as
soon as you have finished your day's work. Bring a suitcase and spend
the night."

"I shall be delighted," Francis replied.

"Do not," Sir Timothy continued, "court disappointment by
over-anticipation. You have without doubt heard of my little gatherings
at Hatch End. They are viewed, I am told, with grave suspicion, alike by
the moralists of the City and, I fear, the police. I am not inviting you
to one of those gatherings. They are for people with other tastes.
My daughter and I have been spending a few days alone in the little
bungalow by the side of my larger house. That is where you will find
us--The Sanctuary, we call it."

"Some day," Francis ventured, "I shall hope to be asked to one of your
more notorious gatherings. For the present occasion I much prefer the
entertainment you offer."

"Then we are both content," Sir Timothy said, smiling. "Au revoir!"

Francis walked across Green Park, along the Mall, down Horse Guards
Parade, along the Embankment to his rooms on the fringe of the Temple.
Here he found his clerk awaiting his arrival in some disturbance of
spirit.

"There is a young gentleman here to see you, sir," he announced. "Mr.
Reginald Wilmore his name is, I think."

"Wilmore?" Francis repeated. "What have you done with him?"

"He is in your room, sir. He seems very impatient. He has been out two
or three times to know how long I thought you would be."

Francis passed down the stone passage and entered his room, a large,
shady apartment at the back of the building. To his surprise it was
empty. He was on the point of calling to his clerk when he saw that the
writing-paper on his desk had been disturbed. He went over and read a
few lines written in a boy's hasty writing:

DEAR