"Probably about two months ago, sir," Soto suggested. "He gave a
donation of ten thousand pounds to the Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals, and they made him a Vice President.... In
one moment, sir."
The manager hurried away to receive a newly-arrived guest.
Francis and his friend exchanged a wondering glance.
"Father of Oliver Hilditch's wife," Wilmore observed, "the most
munificent patron of boxing in the world, Vice President of
the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and
self-confessed arch-criminal! He pulled our legs pretty well!"
"I suppose so," Francis assented absently.
Wilmore glanced at his watch.
"What about moving on somewhere?" he suggested. "We might go
into the Alhambra for half-an-hour, if you like. The last act of
the show is the best."
Francis shook his head.
"We've got to see this thing out," he replied. "Have you
forgotten that our friend promised us a sensation before we
left?"
Wilmore began to laugh a little derisively. Then, suddenly aware
of some lack of sympathy between himself and his friend, he broke
off and glanced curiously at the latter.
"You're not taking him seriously, are you?" he enquired.
Francis nodded.
"Certainly I am," he confessed.
"You don't believe that he was getting at us?"
"Not for a moment.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68