Reggie was in that one of his clubs which he liked best, because no member of it knew anything about his profession. He had just completed an animated discussion on the prehistoric art of the French Congo, and was going out, when the tape machine buzzed and clicked at his elbow, and he stopped to look.
"Murder of Sir Albert Lunt," said the tape and, "Oh, my aunt!" said Reggie. The tape continued the conversation thus: "Sir Albert Lunt, the well-known mining magnate, was found dead this afternoon in the deer park of his estate at Prior's Colney, Bucks. The body was discovered by an employee, in circumstances which suggested foul play. A medical examination led to the conclusion that the deceased had been shot. The local police have the case in hand, and search is being actively prosecuted for" Words failed the tape, and it relapsed into a buzz.
Reggie stared at it with gloomy apprehension. "I believe the beggars get murdered just to bother me," he was reflecting, when a jovial tea-merchant (wholesale—that club is a most respectable club) clapped him on the shoulder, and asked what the news was. "They only do it to annoy because they know it teases," said Reggie, and held up the tape.
"Albert Lunt!" said the tea-merchant, and whistled. "Well, he won't be missed!"
