“Most assuredly,” responded the club president.
“His claim is unfounded,” declared the young aviator in a calm, even tone, but with great positiveness. “He is an adventurer, a fraud. He crossed the Atlantic on the steamer Alsatia. The balloon found on the Plymouth coast is a duplicate of the Dictator which he brought along with him, and the original Dictator, after a brief land run, was purposely burned up fifty miles from New York city.”
“Who says so?” shouted Jerry Dawson, getting excitedly to his feet.
“Roger Davidson,” replied the young aviator, simply.
Jerry Dawson grew white to the lips. He foresaw the losing game, but still he blurted out:
“The proofs?”
“Gentlemen,” said Dave, “a cablegram will serve to order an investigation of the ashes of the Dictator. A living witness as to the shipboard experience of this young romancer can be brought to London as soon as our friends are reached.”
“Why, if this is true, the club will be the laughing stock of the world,” observed the president, bending a dark look on Jerry.
“I—I think I’ll go and consult a lawyer about this insulting charge,” ventured Jerry. “Let me out.”
“No, we will kick you out, if this is all true!” shouted an angry director.