There was a tumult of
angry voices, and the eyes of all were turned upon him. Outwardly at
least he met them with complete indifference. The voice of one of my
countrymen, a noisy pest named Smedburg, was raised in excited
accusation.
"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.
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