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"Then for once the butler was mistaken," his companion told him. "Margaret Hilditch left at six o'clock this morning. I saw her in travelling clothes get into the car and drive away." "She left the cottage this morning before us?" Francis repeated, amazed. "I can assure you that she did," Lady Cynthia insisted.
"The wife of that man Oliver Hilditch," he heard a woman say, "the man who was tried for murder, and committed suicide the night after his acquittal. Why, that can't be much more than three months ago." "If you are the daughter of a millionaire," her escort observed, "you can defy convention." "Yes, that was Sir Timothy Brast," another man was saying.
Ledsam, for the wonderful evidence you tendered at the inquest upon the body of my son-in-law, Oliver Hilditch." Francis turned in his place and looked steadily at this unsought-for companion, learning nothing, however, from the half-mocking smile and imperturbable expression. "Your son-in-law?" he repeated. "Do you mean to say that you are the father of of Oliver Hilditch's wife?"
"Tell me," he asked his host, during one of the brief pauses in the conversation, "have you ever tried to analyse this interest of yours in human beings and crowded cities, this hatred of solitude and empty spaces?" Oliver Hilditch smiled thoughtfully, and gazed at a salted almond which he was just balancing between the tips of his fingers.
They couldn't discover the weapon, or anything like it, with which the deed was done. Now I'll show you something ingenious." Francis followed the other's movements with fascinated eyes. The woman scarcely turned her head. Hilditch paused at the further end of the room, where there were a couple of gun cases, some fishing rods and a bag, of golf clubs.
Granted that Hilditch was a desperate criminal whom by the exercise of your special gifts you saved from the law, surely his tragic death balanced the account between you and Society?" "It might have done," Francis admitted, "if he had really committed suicide." Wilmore was genuinely startled. He looked at his companion curiously. "What the devil do you mean, old chap?" he demanded.
Indecision had never been one of Francis Ledsam's faults, but four times during the following day he wrote out a carefully worded telegraphic message to Mrs. Oliver Hilditch, 10 b, Hill Street, regretting his inability to dine that night, and each time he destroyed it.
"Mr. Ledsam, are you going to attach yourself to me, or has Margaret annexed you?" "I have offered myself to Mrs. Hilditch," Francis rejoined promptly, "but so far I have made no impression." "Try her with a punt and a concertina after dinner," Lady Cynthia suggested. "After all, I came down here to better my acquaintance with my host.
Oliver Hilditch, standing by, remained speechless. It seemed for a moment as though his self-control were subjected to a severe strain. "I had the good fortune," he interposed, in a low tone, "to be wonderfully defended. Mr. Ledsam here " He glanced around.
The butler met him as he drove up before the porch. "Sir Timothy begs you to excuse him this morning, sir," he announced. "His secretary has arrived from town with a very large correspondence which they are now engaged upon." "And Mrs. Hilditch?" Francis ventured. "I have not seen her maid this morning, sir," the man replied, "but Mrs. Hilditch never rises before midday.
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