associations or interests than financial. I see you remember the crash
. . . "

"I was away in the Indian Seas at the time," I said. "But of course--"

"Of course," Marlow struck in. "All the world . . . You may wonder at my
slowness in recognizing the name. But you know that my memory is merely
a mausoleum of proper names. There they lie inanimate, awaiting the
magic touch--and not very prompt in arising when called, either. The
name is the first thing I forget of a man. It is but just to add that
frequently it is also the last, and this accounts for my possession of a
good many anonymous memories. In de Barral's case, he got put away in my
mausoleum in company with so many names of his own creation that really
he had to throw off a monstrous heap of grisly bones before he stood
before me at the call of the wizard Fyne. The fellow had a pretty fancy
in names: the "Orb" Deposit Bank, the "Sceptre" Mutual Aid Society, the
"Thrift and Independence" Association. Yes, a very pretty taste in
names; and nothing else besides--absolutely nothing--no other merit. Well
yes. He had another name, but that's pure luck--his own name of de
Barral which he did not invent. I don't think that a mere Jones or Brown
could have fished out from the depths of the Incredible such a colossal
manifestation of human folly as that man did. But it may be that I am
underestimating the alacrity of human folly in rising to the bait. No
doubt I am. The greed of that absurd monster is incalculable,
unfathomable, inconceivable. The career of de Barral demonstrates that
it will rise to a naked hook. He didn't lure it with a fairy tale. He
hadn't enough imagination for it . . . "

"Was he a foreigner?" I asked. "It's clearly a French name. I suppose
it _was_ his name?"