m leave the room, a dignified, distinguished
figure, sped on his way with marks of the deepest respect by waiters,
maitres d'hotels and even the manager himself. They behaved, indeed, as
they both admitted afterwards, like a couple of moonstruck idiots. When
he had finally disappeared, however, they looked at one another and the
spell was broken.

"Well, I'm damned!" Francis exclaimed. "Soto, come here at once."

The manager hastened smilingly to their table.

"Soto," Francis invoked, "tell us quickly--tell us the name of the
gentleman who has just gone out, and who he is?"

Soto was amazed.

"You don't know Sir Timothy Brast, sir?" he exclaimed. "Why, he is
supposed to be one of the richest men in the world! He spends money like
water. They say that when he is in England, his place down the river
alone costs a thousand pounds a week. When he gives a party here, we can
find nothing good enough. He is our most generous client."

"Sir Timothy Brast," Wilmore repeated. "Yes, I have heard of him."

"Why, everybody knows Sir Timothy," Soto went on eloquently. "He is
the greatest living patron of boxing. He found the money for the last
international fight."

"Does he often come in alone like this?" Francis asked curiously.

"Either alone," Soto replied, "or with a very large party. He entertains
magnificently."

"I've seen his name in the paper in connection with something or other,
during the last few weeks," Wilmore remarked reflectively.

"Probably about two months ago, sir," Soto suggested. "He gave a
donation of ten thousand pounds to the Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals, and they made him a Vice President.... In one
moment, sir."

The manager hurried away to receive a newly-arrived guest. Francis and
his friend exchanged a wondering glance.

"Father of Oliver Hilditch's wife," Wilmore observed, "the most
munificent patron of boxing in the world, Vice President of the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and self-confessed
arch-criminal! He pulled our legs pretty well!"

"I suppose so," Francis assented absently.

Wilmore glanced at his watch.

"What about moving on somewhere?" he suggested. "We might go into the
Alhambra for half-an-hour, if you like. The last act of the show is the
best."

Francis shook his head.

"We've got to see this thing out," he replied. "Have you forgotten that
our friend promised us a sensation before we left?"

Wilmore began to laugh a litt