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!”