“Now I must point out to you that, as—practical joke or not—you came here calling yourself Mr. Jones, I would be justified in asking you for proof that you are not Mr. Jones. See my point?”
“Quite.”
“Well, then, prove your case,” said the physician jovially.
“How can I?”
“Well, if you are the Earl of Rochester, let me test your memory. Who is your banker?”
“Coutts.”
Hoover did not know who the Earl of Rochester’s banker might be, but the promptness of the reply satisfied him of its truth, the promptness was also an index of sanity. He passed at a venture to a subject on which he was acquainted.
“And how many brothers and sisters have you?”
That was fatal.
Jones’ eye fell under the pressure of Hoover’s.