‘Well, it had,’ Jimmy admitted. ‘Brainy work to have guessed it. But I’m not on in this act—I’m resting. The wire really concerns Hesseltine’s claim.’ ‘You two generally hunt in couples. Perhaps Mr Hesseltine will let you put his case for him.’ ‘Anything that pleases you and saves me trouble,’ said Hesseltine generously. ‘I can always correct Jimmy if he makes an ass of himself.’ ‘Well,’ said Jimmy, ‘we can see for ourselves that Hesseltine is here to-night. I don’t want to dwell on his misfortunes, but he looks much as usual. Talks in the same silly way too. But that telegram is his evidence that he is really in Liverpool. It is signed with his name and was handed in at a Liverpool office. I’ll read it. “So sorry to be unable to be with you to-night, but have promised to remain here to act as judge at local baby-show.” Well, it isn’t for me to say anything, though I could.’ ‘The evidence that Mr Hesseltine is here,’ said the chairman, ‘is good. The evidence that he is in Liverpool is less good. A telegram is not necessarily despatched by the man whose name is signed to it. Further, it seems to me improbable that a young bachelor would have been selected for the high office which Mr Hesseltine claims to have fulfilled. I think we shall do better than that. I will ask Mr Pusely-Smythe how far he has succeeded in being in two places at once.’ ‘It is easier to be in one place at twice,’ said Pusely-Smythe. ‘But I have done what I could, considering how unversed I am in the arts of deception.’ The applause which greeted this statement was possibly of an ironical character. ‘On the morning of Tuesday last,’ Pusely-Smythe continued, ‘I was at the Rectory, Meldon Bois, where I had been spending the week-end. The village of Meldon Bois is one hundred and eight miles from London. It had been my intention to leave Meldon Bois by the 10.5 a.m. for London. I had been pressed to remain for one more night, as there was to be a performance of a pastoral play by distinguished amateurs in the grounds of the Rectory on Tuesday afternoon, and it would be a pity for me to miss it. I will not conceal it from you, sir, that the said pastoral play constituted the principal reason for my departure. ‘You have grasped these facts? Very good. Now, on the morning of Tuesday, by the first post, I received a letter from my one and only aunt, who resides in London, to say that as I was coming up to town that morning she hoped I would lunch with her in Grosvenor Street and accompany her afterwards to hear a lecture to be given by some eminent idiot on “The Future of Eugenics.” My aunt is one of the most strong-minded and wearisome women in existence. I had been reluctant to witness the amateur performance in the Rectory grounds, and I contemplated the idea of listening to a lecture on “The Future of Eugenics” with horror and loathing. That was the situation. I had to miss two birds with one stone.