"
Wilmore was genuinely startled. He looked at his companion
curiously.
"What the devil do you mean, old chap?" he demanded. "Your own
evidence at the inquest was practically conclusive as to that."
Francis glanced around him with apparent indifference but in
reality with keen and stealthy care. On their right was a glass
division, through which the sound of their voices could not
possibly penetrate. On their left was an empty space, and a
table beyond was occupied by a well-known cinema magnate engaged
in testing the attractions in daily life of a would-be film star.
Nevertheless, Francis' voice was scarcely raised above a whisper.
"My evidence at the coroner's inquest," he confided, "was a
subtly concocted tissue of lies. I committed perjury freely.
That is the real reason why I've been a little on the nervy side
lately, and why I took these few months out of harness."
"Good God!" Wilmore exclaimed, setting down untasted the glass of
brandy which he had just raised to his lips.
"I want to finish this matter up," Francis continued calmly, "by
making a clean breast of it to you, because from to-night I am
starting afresh, with new interests in my life, what will
practically amount to a new career. That is why I preferred not
to dine at the club to-night, although I am looking forward to
seeing them all again.
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