“My friend Fitzgerald,” he remarked, “will be glad to hear that.”
Maud fidgeted. It was not quite the effect she had intended to produce!
“Of course,” she remarked, looking away with a pensive air, “one has regrets.”
“Regrets!” Peter Ruff murmured.
“Mr. Dory is not well off,” she continued, “and I am afraid that I am very fond of life and going about, and everything is so expensive nowadays. Then I don’t like his profession. I think it is hateful to be always trying to catch people and put them in prison—don’t you, Mr. Ruff?”
Peter Ruff smiled.
“Naturally,” he answered. “Your husband and I work from the opposite poles of life. He is always seeking to make criminals of the people whom I am always trying to prove worthy members of society.”
“How noble!” Maud exclaimed, clasping her hands and looking up at him. “So much more remunerative, too, I should think,” she added, after a moment’s pause.
“Naturally,” Peter Ruff admitted. “A private individual will pay more to escape from the clutches of the law than the law will to secure its victims. Scotland Yard expects them to come into its arms automatically—regards them as a perquisite of its existence.”
“I wish my husband were in your profession, Mr. Ruff,” Maud said, with a sidelong glance of her blue eyes which she had always found so effective upon her various admirers. “I am sure that I should be a great deal fonder of him.”