"When the ship's surgeon first met you," he cried, "you called yourself Lord Ridley."
"I'll call myself anything I jolly well like," returned Talbot. "If I choose to dodge reporters, that's my pidgin. I don't have to give my name to every meddling busybody that—"
"You'll give it to the police, all right," chortled Mr. Smedburg. In the confident, bullying tone of the man who knows the crowd is with him, he shouted: "And in the meantime you'll keep out of this smoking-room!"
The chorus of assent was unanimous. It could not be disregarded. Talbot rose and with fastidious concern brushed the cigarette ashes from his sleeve. As he moved toward the door he called back: "Only too delighted to keep out. The crowd in this room makes a gentleman feel lonely."
But he was not to escape with the last word.
His prosecutor pointed his finger at him.
"And the next time you take the name of Adolph Meyer," he shouted, "make sure first he hasn't a friend on board; some one to protect him from sharpers and swindlers—"
Talbot turned savagely and then shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, go to the devil!" he called, and walked out into the night.
The purser was standing at my side and, catching my eye, shook his head.