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moment,” Prokop stopped him, “allow me me to introduce you. Mr. Carson, Sir Reginald Carson.”

Sir Reginald drew himself up but remained seated with unruffed dignity; but Mr. Carson, whistling with surprise, sank into a chair like a man whose legs have suddenly failed him. Prokop leaned against the door and stared at both of them with uncontrolled hostility. “Well?” he asked finally.

Sir Reginald began to put his papers away in his wallet. “Undoubtedly,” he said slowly, “it would be better for me to visit you some other time”

“Please stay,” Prokop interrupted him. “Excuse me, gentlemen, are you by any chance related?”

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Carson. “On the contrary.”

“Which of you is the real Carson?”

Nobody answered; there was a painful silence.

“Ask this gentleman,” said Sir Reginald coldly, “perhaps he will show you his papers.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” hissed Mr. Carson, “but after the other gentleman has done so first. So.”

“And which of you inserted that announcement in the papers?”

“I,” said Mr. Carson without the least hesitation, “my inspiration, my dear sir, I see that even in