"Aren't you well, old chap?" he asked. "You look as though you'd seen a ghost."
Douglas pulled himself together with an effort.
"I'm not quite the thing," he said. "Late, last night, I suppose. I'm sure it's very good of you to think of me, Speedwell, but I'd rather you left me out."
"Why?"
"You see I'm really only a novice—quite a beginner, and I don't feel
I've the right to be included."
"That" Speedwell answered, "is our business. You didn't come to us—I came to you. All you have to do is to answer a few questions, and let me have that photo."
Douglas shook his head.
"You must please excuse me, Speedwell," he said. "It's very kind of you, but to tell you the truth, there are certain painful incidents in connection with my life before I came to London which I am anxious to forget. I do not choose to have a past at all."
Speedwell shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette. He was none too well pleased.
"You can't expect," he remarked, "to become famous and remain at the same time unknown. There is a great and growing weakness on the part of the public to-day for personalities. I suppose it is the spread of American methods in journalism which is responsible for it. Some day your chroniclers will help themselves to your past, whether you will or not."