"He is coming," she whispered.
Oliver Hilditch reappeared, carrying cigars wrapped in gold foil
which he had brought with him from Cuba, the tobacco of which was
a revelation to his guest. The two men smoked and sipped their
coffee and brandy. The woman sat with half-closed eyes. It was
obvious that Hilditch was still in the mood for speech.
"I will tell you, Mr. Ledsam," he said, "why I am so happy to
have you here this evening. In the first place, I desire to
tender you once more my thanks for your very brilliant efforts on
my behalf. The very fact that I am able to offer you hospitality
at all is without a doubt due to these."
"I only did what I was paid to do," Francis insisted, a little
harshly. "You must remember that these things come in the day's
work with us."
His host nodded.
"Naturally," he murmured. "There was another reason, too, why I
was anxious to meet you, Mr. Ledsam," he continued. "You have
gathered already that I am something of a crank. I have a
profound detestation of all sentimentality and affected morals.
It is a relief to me to come into contact with a man who is free
from that bourgeois incubus to modern enterprise--a conscience."
"Is that your estimate of me?" Francis asked.
"Why not? You practise your profession in the criminal courts,
do you not?"
"That is well-known," was the brief reply.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43