was hovering in the background, "I call it criminal
to expect us to drink French vermouth like this."

"There is another point of view," the latter retorted. "I call it
a crime to expect a body of intelligent men to administer without
emolument to the greed of such a crowd of rotters. You'll get the right
stuff next week."

The hall-porter approached and addressed Wilmore.

"Mr. Ledsam is outside in a taxi, sir," he announced.

"Outside in a taxi?" the lawyer repeated. "Why on earth can't he come
in?"

"I never heard such rot," another declared. "Let's go and rope him in."

"Mr. Ledsam desired me to say, sir," the hall porter continued, "to
any of his friends who might be here, that he will be in to lunch
to-morrow."

"Leave him to me till then," Wilmore begged. "He'll be all right
directly. He's simply altering his bearings and taking his time about
it. If he's promised to lunch here to-morrow, he will. He's as near as
possible through the wood. Coming up in the train, he suggested a little
conversation to-night and afterwards the normal life. He means it, too.
There's nothing neurotic about Ledsam."

The magistrate nodded.

"Run along, then, my merry Andrew," he said, "but see that Ledsam keeps
his word about to-morrow."

Andrew Wilmore plunged boldly into the forbidden subject later on that
evening, as the two men sat side by side at one of the wall tables in
Soto's famous club restaurant. They had consumed an excellent dinner.
An empty champagne bottle had just been removed, double liqueur brandies
had taken its place. Francis, with an air of complete and even exuberant
humanity, had lit a huge cigar. The moment seemed propitious.

"Francis," his friend began, "they say at the club that you refused to
be briefed in the Chippenham affair."

"Quite true," was the calm reply. "I told Griggs that I wouldn't have
anything to do with it."

Wilmore knew then that all was well. Francis' old air of strength and
decision had returned. His voice was firm, his eyes were clear and
bright. His manner seemed even to invite questioning.

"I think I know why," Wilmore said, "but I should like you to tell me in
your own words."

Francis glanced around as though to be sure that they were not
overheard.

"Because," he replied, dropping his voice a little but still speaking
with great distinctness, "William Bull is a cunning and dangerous
criminal whom I should prefer to see hanged."

"You know that?"

"I kno