“Won’t ’ave a Mister to it,” said Jordan from the background. “Calls ’isself Sargon.”
The doctor became very acute in his manner. “Now isn’t that some sort of historical name?” he asked with a sideways searching look.
“It is,” said Sargon.
“But it isn’t your name, you know.”
“Possibly not. I mean—It is my only name.”
“That’s a bit of an answer, that is,” said the pasty-faced man. “My word!”
“What is your real name?” asked the doctor persuasively.
“Sargon.”
“Not Mr. A. E. Preemby?”
Sargon started and stared, possibly with a certain wildness in his eyes. “With God’s help, No!” he said.