The conversation to which I refer
took place on the night of young Bidlake's murder, and Mr.
Ledsam, with my somewhat, I confess, bombastic words in his
memory, has pitched upon me as the bloodthirsty murderer."
"Hold on for a moment, sir," Peter Jacks begged, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead. "We've got to have another drink
quick. Poor old Bobby here looks knocked all of a heap, and I'm
kind of jumpy myself. You'll join us, sir?"
"I thank you," was the courteous reply. "I do not as a rule
indulge to the extent of more than one cocktail, but I will
recognise the present as an exceptional occasion. To continue,
then," he went on, after the glasses had been filled, "I have
during the last few weeks experienced the ceaseless and lynx-eyed
watch of Mr. Ledsam and presumably his myrmidons. I do not know
whether you are all acquainted with my name, but in case you are
not, let me introduce myself. I am Sir Timothy Brast, Chairman,
as I dare say you know, of the United Transvaal Gold Mines,
Chairman, also, of two of the principal hospitals in London, Vice
President of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals, a patron of sport in many forms, a traveller in many
countries, and a recipient of the honour of knighthood from His
Majesty, in recognition of my services for various philanthropic
works.
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