As it was getting late, and as I knew that Thwaites would be on tap early in the morning, for J. P. usually breakfasted before nine, and the “victim” was supposed to have had his own breakfast by eight, I left the villa and went back to the yacht.

As he said good-night, Thwaites gave me a copy of The Daily Telegraph and advised me to read it carefully, as J. P. might ask me for the day’s news during the drive we were to take the following morning.

Before going to sleep I glanced through The Daily Telegraph and came across an article which gave me an idea for establishing my reputation for memory.  It was a note about the death duties which had been collected in England during 1910, and it gave a list of about twenty estates on which large sums had been paid.  The list included the names of the deceased and also the amounts on which probate duty had been paid.  I decided to commit these names and figures to memory and to take an occasion the next day to reel them off to J. P.

Punctually at eleven o’clock I presented myself at the villa to find, to my dismay, J. P. seated in his automobile in a towering rage.  What sort of consideration had I for him to keep him waiting for half an hour!

I protested that eleven o’clock was the hour of the appointment.  I was absolutely wrong, he said, half-past-ten was the time, and he remembered perfectly naming that hour, because he wanted a long drive and he had an engagement with Mr. Paterson at noon.

“I’m awfully sorry,” I began, “if I misunderstood you, but really...”

He dismissed the matter abruptly by saying, “For God’s sake, don’t argue about it.  Get in and sit next to me so that I can hear you talk.”

As soon as we had got clear of the village, and were spinning along at a good rate on the Corniche road, which circles the Bay of Monaco, high on the mountain side, Mr. Pulitzer began to put me through my paces.

“Now, Mr. Ireland,” he began, “you will understand that if any arrangement is to be concluded between us I must explore your brain, your character, your tastes, your sympathies, your prejudices, your temper; I must find out if you have tact, patience, a sense of humor, the gift of condensing information, and, above all, a respect, a love, a passion for accuracy.”

I began to speak, but he interrupted me before I had got six words out of my mouth.

“Wait!  Wait!” he cried, “let me finish what I have to say.  You’ll find this business of being a candidate a very trying and disagreeable one; well, it’s damned disagreeable to me, too.  What I need is rest, repose, quiet, routine, understanding, sympathy, friendship, yes, my God! the friendship of those around me.  Mr. Ireland, I can do much, I can do everything for a man who will be my friend.  I can give him power, I can give him wealth, I can give him reputation, the power, the wealth, the reputation which come to a man who speaks to a million people a day in the