The Cold Blooded Vengeance: 10 Mystery & Revenge Thrillers in One Volume. E. Phillips Oppenheim

we are scarcely being polite. So far, Miss Hyslop has had very little to say.”

      The young lady was not altogether at her ease.

      “I have had very little to say,” she repeated, “because I did not expect an audience.”

      Sir Timothy drew a letter from his pocket, opened it and adjusted his eyeglass.

      “Here we are,” he said. “After leaving my dinner-party tonight, I called at the club and found this note. Quite an inviting little affair, you see young lady’s writing, faint but very delicate perfume, excellent stationery, Milan Court—the home of adventures!”

       "DEAR SIR TIMOTHY BRAST: "Although I am not known to you personally, there is a certain matter concerning which information has come into my possession, which I should like to discuss with you. Will you call and see me as soon as possible?"

       Sincerely yours, "DAISY HYSLOP."

      “On receipt of this note,” Sir Timothy continued, folding it up, “I telephoned to the young lady and as I was fortunate enough to find her at home I asked her to come here. I then took the liberty of introducing myself to Mr. Shopland, whose interest in my evening has been unvarying, and whose uninvited company I have been compelled to bear with, and suggested that, as I was on my way back to Curzon Street, he had better come in and have a drink and tell me what it was all about. I arranged that he should find Miss Hyslop here, and for a person of observation, which I flatter myself to be, it was easy to discover the interesting fact that Mr. Shopland and Miss Daisy Hyslop were not strangers.

      “Now tell me, young lady,” Sir Timothy went on. “You see, I have placed myself entirely in your hands. Never mind the presence of these two gentlemen. Tell me exactly what you wanted to say to me?”

      “The matter is of no great importance,” Miss Hyslop declared, “in any case I should not discuss it before these two gentlemen.”

      “Don’t go for a moment, please,” Sir Timothy begged, as she showed signs of departure. “Listen. I want to make a suggestion to you. There is an impression abroad that I was interested in the two young men, Victor Bidlake and Fairfax, and that I knew something of their quarrel. You were an intimate friend of young Bidlake’s and presumably in his confidence. It occurs to me, therefore, that Mr. Shopland might very well have visited you in search of information, linking me up with that unfortunate affair. Hence your little note to me.”

      Miss Hyslop rose to her feet. She had the appearance of being very angry indeed.

      “Do you mean to insinuate—” she began.

      “Madam, I insinuate nothing,” Sir Timothy interrupted sternly. “I only desire to suggest this. You are a young lady whose manner of living, I gather, is to a certain extent precarious. It must have seemed to you a likelier source of profit to withhold any information you might have to give at the solicitation of a rich man, than to give it free gratis and for nothing to a detective. Now am I right?”

      Miss Hyslop turned towards the door. She had the air of a person who had been entirely misunderstood.

      “I wrote you out of kindness, Sir Timothy,” she said in an aggrieved manner. “I shall have nothing more to say on the matter—to you, at any rate.”

      Sir Timothy sighed.

      “You see,” he said, turning to the others, “I have lost my chance of conciliating a witness. My cheque-book remains locked up and she has gone over to your side.”

      She turned around suddenly.

      “You know that you made Bobby Fairfax kill Victor!” she almost shouted.

      Sir Timothy smiled in triumph.

      “My dear young lady,” he begged, “let us now be friends again. I desired to know your trump card. For that reason I fear that I have been a little brutal. Now please don’t hurry away. You have shot your bolt. Already Mr. Shopland is turning the thing over in his mind. Was I lurking outside that night, Mr. Shopland, to guide that young man’s flabby arm? He scarcely seemed man enough for a murderer, did he, when he sat quaking on that stool in Soto’s Bar while Mr. Ledsam tortured him? I beg you again not to hurry, Miss Hyslop. At any rate wait while my servants fetch you a taxi. It was clouding over when I came in. We may even have a thunderstorm.”

      “I want to get out of this house,” Daisy Hyslop declared. “I think you are all horrible. Mr. Ledsam did behave like a gentleman when he came to see me, and Mr. Shopland asked questions civilly. But you—” she added, turning round to Sir Timothy.

      “Hush, my dear,” he interrupted, holding out his hand. “Don’t abuse me. I am not angry with you—not in the least—and I am going to prove it. I shall oppose any search warrant which you might apply for, Mr. Shopland, and I think I can oppose it with success. But I invite you two, Miss Hyslop and Mr. Ledsam, to my party on Thursday night. Once under my roof you shall have carte blanche. You can wander where you please, knock the walls for secret hiding-places, stamp upon the floor for oubliettes. Upstairs or down, the cellars and the lofts, the grounds and the park, the whole of my domain is for you from midnight on Thursday until four o’clock. What do you say, Mr. Shopland? Does my offer satisfy you?”

      The detective hesitated.

      “I should prefer an invitation for myself,” he declared bluntly.

      Sir Timothy shook his head.

      “Alas, my dear Mr. Shopland,” he regretted, “that is impossible! If I had only myself to consider I would not hesitate. Personally I like you. You amuse me more than any one I have met for a long time. But unfortunately I have my guests to consider! You must be satisfied with Mr. Ledsam’s report.”

      Shopland stroked his stubbly moustache. It was obvious that he was not in the least disconcerted.

      “There are three days between now and then,” he reflected.

      “During those three days, of course,” Sir Timothy said drily, “I shall do my best to obliterate all traces of my various crimes. Still, you are a clever detective, and you can give Mr. Ledsam a few hints. Take my advice. You won’t get that search warrant, and if you apply for it none of you will be at my party.”

      “I accept,” Shopland decided.

      Sir Timothy crossed the room, unlocked the drawer of a magnificent writing-table, and from a little packet drew out two cards of invitation. They were of small size but thick, and the colour was a brilliant scarlet. On one he wrote the name of Francis, the other he filled in for Miss Hyslop.

      “Miss Daisy Hyslop,” he said, “shall we drink a glass of wine together on Thursday evening, and will you decide that although, perhaps, I am not a very satisfactory correspondent, I can at least be an amiable host?”

      The girl’s eyes glistened. She knew very well that the possession of that card meant that for the next few days she would be the envy of every one of her acquaintances.

      “Thank you, Sir Timothy,” she replied eagerly. “You have quite misunderstood me but I should like to come to your party.”

      Sir Timothy handed over the cards. He rang for a servant and bowed the others out. Francis he detained for a moment.

      “Our little duel, my friend, marches,” he said. “After Thursday night we will speak again of this matter concerning Margaret. You will know then what you have to face.”

      Margaret herself opened the door and looked in.

      “What have those people been doing here?” she asked. “What is happening?”

      Her father unlocked his drawer once more and drew out another of the red cards.

      “Margaret,” he said, “Ledsam here has accepted my invitation for Thursday night. You have never, up till now, honoured me, nor have I ever asked you. I suggest that for the first part of the entertainment, you give me the pleasure of your company.”

      “For