Some favoured person, evidently." Francis glanced in the direction indicated without curiosity.

The table in question was laid for two and was distinguished by a wonderful cluster of red roses.
"Why is it," the novelist continued speculatively, "that, whenever we take another man's wife out, we think it necessary to order red roses ?" "And why is it," Francis queried, a little grimly, "that a dear fellow like you, Andrew, believes it his duty to talk of trifles for his pal's sake, when all the time he is thinking of something else?
I know you're dying to talk about the Hilditch case, aren't you?
Well, go ahead." "I'm only interested in this last development," Wilmore confessed.
"Of course, I read the newspaper reports.

To tell you the truth, for a murder trial it seemed to me to rather lack colour." "It was a very simple and straightforward case," Francis said slowly.
"Oliver Hilditch is the principal partner in an American financial company which has recently opened offices in the West End.

He seems to have arrived in England about two years ago, to have taken a house in Hill Street, and to have spent a great deal of money.

A month or so ago, his partner from New York arrived in London, a man named Jordan of whom nothing was known.