“I don’t envy you your job,” he remarked. “Is there nothing to set down on the credit side of the ledger?”
“Not much,” Aynesworth answered. “He is a fine sportsman, and he saved my life in the Rockies, which makes me feel a bit uncomfortable sometimes. He has a sense of justice, for he heard of this mine from a man in prison, and he has kept accounts showing the fellow’s share down to the last halfpenny. But I have never yet known him to speak a kindly word or do a kindly deed. He seems intent upon carrying out to the letter his own principles—to make as many people as possible suffer for his own broken life. Now he is back here, a millionaire, with immense power for good or for evil, I am almost afraid of him. I wouldn’t be Lady Ruth or her husband for something.”
Lovell smoked thoughtfully for a time.
“Wingrave was always a little odd,” he remarked, “but I never thought that he was a bad chap.”
“Go and see him now!” Aynesworth said. “Tell me if you think he wears a mask or whether he is indeed what he seems.”
The hall porter entered the room and addressed Aynesworth.
“Gentleman called for you, sir,” he announced.
“It is Wingrave,” Aynesworth declared. “Come and speak to him!”
They descended the stairs together. Outside, Wingrave was leaning back in the corner of an electric brougham, reading the paper. Aynesworth put his head in at the window.
“You remember Lovell, Mr. Wingrave?” he said. “We were just talking when your message came up. I’ve brought him down to shake hands with you.”