Ten days later Mostyn Scarth called at Doctor Alt's, to ask if he
mightn't see Jack at last. He had behaved extremely well about the whole
affair; others in his position might easily have made trouble. But there
had been no concealment of the fact that injuries were not confined to
the broken leg, and the mere seat of the additional mischief was enough
for a man of sense. It is not the really strong who love to display
their power. Scarth not only accepted the situation, but voluntarily
conducted the correspondence which kept poor Mrs. Laverick at half
Europe's length over the critical period. He had merely stipulated to be
the first to see the convalescent, and he took it as well as ever when
Dollar shook his head once more.
"It's not our fault this time, Mr. Scarth. You must blame the sex that
is privileged to change its mind. Mrs. Laverick has arrived without a
word of warning. She is with her son at this moment, and you'll be glad
to hear that she thinks she finds him an absolutely changed
character--or, rather, what he was before he ever saw Winterwald a year
ago. I may say that this seems more or less the patient's own impression
about himself."
"Glad!" cried Scarth, who for the moment had seemed rather staggered.
"I'm more than glad; I'm profoundly relieved! It doesn't matter now
whether I see Jack or not. Do you mind giving him these magazines and
papers, with my love? I am thankful that my responsibility's at an end."
"The same with me," returned the crime doctor. "I shall go back to my
work in London with a better conscience than I had when I left it--with
something accomplished--something undone that wanted undoing."
He smiled at Scarth across the flap of an unpretentious table, on which
lay the literary offering in all its glory of green and yellow wrappers;
and Scarth looked up without a trace of pique, but with an answering
twinkle in his own dark eyes.
"Alt exalted--restored to favor--Jack reformed character--born
again--forger forgot--forging ahead, eh?"
It was his best Mr. Jingle manner; indeed, a wonderfully ready and
ruthless travesty of his own performance on the night of Dollar's
arrival. And that kindred critic enjoyed it none the less for a second
strain of irony, which he could not but take to himself.
"I have not forgot anybody, Mr. Scarth."
"But have you discovered who did the forgery?"
"I always knew."
"Have you tackled him?"
"Days ago!"