Edward Phillips Oppenheim

The Evil Shepherd Edward Phillips Oppenheim

Francis Ledsam, alert, well-satisfied with himself and the world, the echo of a little buzz of congratulations still in his ears, paused on the steps of the modern Temple of Justice to light a cigarette before calling for a taxi to take him to his club. Visions of a whisky and soda-his throat was a little parched-and a rubber of easy-going bridge at his favourite table, were already before his eyes. A woman who had followed him from the Court touched him on the shoulder. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Ledsam?" The barrister frowned slightly as he swung around to confront his questioner. It was such a familiar form of address. "What do you want?" he asked, a little curtly. "A few minutes' conversation with you," was the calm reply. "The matter is important." The woman's tone and manner, notwithstanding her plain, inconspicuous clothes, commanded attention. Francis Ledsam was a little puzzled. Small things meant much to him in life, and he had been looking forward almost with the zest of a schoolboy to that hour of relaxation at his club. He was impatient of even a brief delay, a sentiment which he tried to express in his response. "What do you want to speak to me about?" he repeated bluntly. "I shall be in my rooms in the Temple to-morrow morning, any time after eleven." "It is necessary for me to speak to you now," she insisted. "There is a tea-shop across the way. Please accompany me there."