“There is just one thing omitted which I think should be in,” he said.
“What’s that?” Mr. Montague demanded.
“Well, I think you ought to add ‘Leicester Square’ after the Empress Music Hall,” Jacob pointed out. “Curiously enough, there happens to be another Empress Music Hall in Shoreditch, the proprietor of which spells his name P-e-t-e-r. I looked it up in the telephone directory just now.”
There was a cold and ominous silence. Mr. Montague breathed heavily. The Marquis sighed.
“Most unfortunate!” he murmured.
“Most what?” Jacob asked, turning towards him.
“Most unfortunate,” the Marquis repeated. “You are the first person, Mr. Pratt, to whom this—er—enterprise has been suggested, who has seen through our little financial effort.”
Jacob was somewhat staggered. He looked across at Montague.
“You’re on top again, Pratt,” that gentleman conceded gloomily. “The music hall in question is the Shoreditch ‘Empress.’”
“And do you mean to say,” Jacob demanded incredulously, “that you have induced the people whose names are on that list to part with their money, believing they are going to acquire an interest in the Empress Music Hall in Leicester Square?”