At this point Empson sniggered audibly. The speaker turned his head and fixed his terrifying glance upon the delinquent. Poor Empson grew very red, and endeavoured to cover his lapse by coughing noisily. The other waited patiently till he had finished.
“Perhaps you wish to say something, Sir,” he remarked coldly.
“N-no,” said Empson. “Most interesting.”
The President made a gesture which indicated that Empson was beneath contempt and renewed his discourse.
“Continuing the same method of research,” he said, “we compiled a list of nearly four hundred persons born on March 3rd. To each of these we sent particulars of a Derby Sweepstake. Every one of them, gentlemen, applied for a ticket by return of post.”
There was an impressive pause. The President looked round the carriage defiantly as if challenging suspicion.
“One of our tests with regard to to-day’s date—liars’ day,” he continued presently, “was rather amusing. We hired a room in the City for a week and sent out over three hundred letters to persons born on that day. Our notepaper was headed, ‘Short, Stay and Hoppett, Solicitors,’ and the letters were in identical terms. They said that we had been endeavouring for some time to trace the relatives of one Davy Jones, who, after acquiring a large fortune in Australia, had died intestate, and we had that morning been given to understand that the gentleman with whom we wore corresponding was a nephew of the deceased, etc., etc. You guess what happened. Every one of them without exception claimed as his uncle this millionaire who never existed.”
The train began to slow down, and the President rose to his feet.
“I get out here,” he said. “I’m sorry. I should like to have discussed the subject further. You, Sir”—he pointed threateningly at Ferguson—“will doubtless in future refrain from blaming Mr. —— for a failing for which, as you see, he is in no way responsible.”
Ferguson quaked and said nothing.