"
"The man must have an interesting personality," a novelist who
had joined the party observed. "Of course, you know that he was
in prison for six months?"
"What for?" some one asked.
"Murder, only they brought it in manslaughter," was the terse
reply. "He killed his partner. It was many years ago, and no
one knows all the facts of the story."
"I am not holding a brief for Sir Timothy," Francis remarked, as
he sipped his cocktail. "As a matter of fact, he and I are very
much at cross-purposes. But as regards that particular instance,
I am not sure that he was very much to be blamed, any more than
you can blame any injured person who takes the law into his own
hands."
"He isn't a man I should care to have for an enemy," Baker
declared.
"Well, we'll shake the truth out of you fellows, somehow or
other," one of the group threatened. "On Friday morning we are
going to have the whole truth--none of this Masonic secrecy which
Baker indulged in last year."
The men drifted in to luncheon and Francis, leaving them, took a
taxi on to the Ritz. Looking about in the vestibule for
Margaret, he came face to face with Lady Cynthia. She was
dressed with her usual distinction in a gown of yellow muslin and
a beflowered hat, and was the cynosure of a good many eyes.
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