"I thought you would be interested." "I am interested to this extent," Francis declared, "I shall accept no more cases such as yours unless I am convinced of my client's innocence.
I look upon your confession to me as being in the worst possible taste, and I regret very much my efforts on your behalf." The woman was listening intently.

Hilditch's expression was one of cynical wonder.

Francis rose to his feet and moved across to his hostess.
"Mrs.Hilditch," he said, "will you allow me to make my apologies?
Your husband and I have arrived at an understanding--or perhaps I should say a misunderstanding--which renders the acceptance of any further hospitality on my part impossible." She held out the tips of her fingers.
"I had no idea," she observed, with gentle sarcasm, "that you barristers were such purists morally.

I thought you were rather proud of being the last hope of the criminal classes." "Madam," Francis replied, "I am not proud of having saved the life of a self-confessed murderer, even though that man may be your husband." Hilditch was laughing softly to himself as he escorted his departing guest to the door.
"You have a quaint sense of humour," Francis remarked.
"Forgive me," Oliver Hilditch begged, "but your last few words rather appealed to me.

You must be a person of very scanty perceptions if you could spend the evening here and not understand that my death is the one thing in the world which would make my wife happy." Francis walked home with these last words ringing in his ears.