V. C by David Christie Murray

There was what seemed like a long silence, though in reality it endured only for a few seconds, whilst General Boswell searched for his gold-rimmed reading glasses, and balanced them on the bridge of that high Quixote nose. By and by, he began to read with great slowness and deliberation, pausing at every other instant to direct a look of calm inspection from John to James, and back again. 'William Ford,' he read, Ninth Avenue, Freemans Town, Ontario. ' He paused after the name of the man -- he paused after the name of the street -- he paused after the name of the town, and he paused again when he had completed the reading of the address. The last pause was longer than the others had been, and he resumed his reading like a man of ice. 'William Buckle, Lafayetteville, Pennsylvania, U. S. A. George Lightfoot, late of Melbourne, now in England.'

He laid the paper down upon the table with a firm hand, and with a slight shake of the head threw the glasses from their place. 'Do you know these men? ' he asked, directing his inquiry to Jervoyce.