He ventured upon a salutation, half a nod, half a more formal bow, a salutation which Francis instinctively returned.

Andrew Wilmore looked on with curiosity.
"So that is Oliver Hilditch," he murmured.
"That is the man," Francis observed, "of whom last evening half the people in this restaurant were probably asking themselves whether or not he was guilty of murder.

To-night they will be wondering what he is going to order for dinner.

It is a strange world." "Strange indeed," Wilmore assented.

"This afternoon he was in the dock, with his fate in the balance--the condemned cell or a favoured table at Claridge's.