"Well, Alt once did more for me. I want to do something for him, that's all."
And his knuckles still ached from the young man's grip as they rapped smartly at the door of No. 144.
II
It was opened a few inches by Mostyn Scarth. His raiment was still at concert pitch, but his face even darker than it had been as the crime doctor saw it last.
"May I ask who you are and what you want?" he demanded—not at all in the manner of Mr. Jingle—rather in the voice that most people would have raised.
"My name's Dollar and I'm a doctor."
The self-announcement, pat as a polysyllable, had a foreseen effect only minimized by the precautionary confidence of Doctor Dollar's manner.
"Thanks very much. I've had about enough of doctors."
And the door was shutting when the intruder got in a word like a wedge.
"Exactly!"