“Continue!” cried the baronet, sharply.
“I read the names,” said the American with evident distaste, “and the family name of each was the same. They were the names of two brothers. One is well known to you. It is that of the African explorer of whom this gentleman was just speaking. I mean the Earl of Chetney. The other was the name of his brother. Lord Arthur Chetney.”
The men at the table fell back as though a trapdoor had fallen open at their feet.
“Lord Chetney?” they exclaimed, in chorus. They glanced at each other and back to the American, with every expression of concern and disbelief.
“It is impossible!” cried the Baronet. “Why, my dear sir, young Chetney only arrived from Africa yesterday. It was so stated in the evening papers.”
The jaw of the American set in a resolute square, and he pressed his lips together.
“You are perfectly right, sir,” he said, “Lord Chetney did arrive in London yesterday morning, and yesterday night I found his dead body.”
The youngest member present was the first to recover. He seemed much less concerned over the identity of the murdered man than at the interruption of the narrative.
“Oh, please let him go on!” he cried. “What happened then? You say you found two visiting-cards. How do you know which card was that of the murdered man?”
The American, before he answered, waited until the chorus of exclamations had ceased. Then he continued as though he had not been interrupted.