The evil shepherd

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.