up. You see, Jack hasn't any relatives to speak of, and those he has
live abroad. Consequently the fellows here consider it is what the
Americans call 'up to them' to institute inquiries, even if such
inquiries should necessitate publicity."

I pondered for a moment or two.

"You know," I said, "Jack is a curious fellow in some ways--some call
him a crank, but he isn't that. Still, he is something of a 'character,'
and absolutely unconventional. I remember his making a bet, once, that
he would punch out a boastful pugilist at the National Sporting
Club--no, it wasn't at the N.S.C., it was at a place down
East--'Wonderland,' they call it."

"And did he do it?" Easterton asked.

"Did he? By heaven, the poor chap he tackled was carried out unconscious
at the end of the second round--Jack's bet was with Teddy Forsyth, and
he pocketed a couple of ponies then and there."

"Did he really? Capital! And Teddy's such a mean chap; he didn't like
partin', did he?"

"Like it? He went about for the rest of the night with a face like a
funeral mute's."

"Capital!" Lord Easterton repeated. "But to return to the point, Jack's
eccentricities and vagaries can have nothin' to do with his
disappearance."