Joseph, unused to acting as master of ceremonies to members of the
Club, shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

"Why, you--you did," he stammered.

"Of course I did!" exclaimed the young man. "I mean, what is the name
of the man who shot it! Tell the gentlemen who I am. They wouldn't
believe me."

"Who you are, my lord?" said Joseph. "You are Lord Edam's son, the
Earl of Chetney."

"You must admit," said Lord Chetney, when the noise had died away,
"that I couldn't remain dead while my little brother was accused of
murder. I had to do something. Family pride demanded it. Now, Arthur,
as the younger brother, can't afford to be squeamish, but personally I
should hate to have a brother of mine hanged for murder."

"You certainly showed no scruples against hanging me," said the
American, "but in the face of your evidence I admit my guilt, and I
sentence myself to pay the full penalty of the law as we are made to
pay it in my own country. The order of this court is," he announced,
"that Joseph shall bring me a wine-card, and that I sign it for five
bottles of the Club's best champagne." "Oh, no!" protested the man
with the pearl stud, "it is not for _you_ to sign it. In my opinion it
is Sir Andrew who should pay the costs. It is time you knew," he said,
turning to that gentleman, "that unconsciously you have been the
victim of what I may call a patriotic conspiracy. These stories have
had a more serious purpose than merely to amuse. They have been told