"I know there was a superstition to that effect," he muttered.
"One must do him justice now he's dead."
"I should like to have done him justice before," said Soames; "but I never had the chance. Have you got a 'Baronetage' here?"
"Yes; in that bottom row."
Soames took out a fat red book, and ran over the leaves.
"Mont—Sir Lawrence, 9th Bt. cr. 1620. e.s. of Geoffrey 8th Bt. and Lavinia daur. of Sir Charles Muskham Bt. of Muskham Hall, Shrops: marr. 1890 Emily, daur. of Conway Charwell Esq. of Condaford Grange, co. Oxon; 1 son, heir Michael Conway, b. 1895, 2 daurs. Residence: Lippinghall Manor, Folwell, Bucks: Clubs: Snooks: Coffee House: Aeroplane. See Bidlicott."
"H'm!" he said: "Did you ever know a publisher?"
"Uncle Timothy."
"Alive, I mean."
"Monty knew one at his Club. He brought him here to dinner once. Monty was always thinking of writing a book, you know, about how to make money on the turf. He tried to interest that man."