He stretched his arms behind his head, and rested his crown upon his hands.
“Never felt so fit in my life,” he said, “never.”
Saunders—if Saunders knew—he wouldn’t go and blab to Pauline. What good would it do him? Besides, Saunders was a decent sort; besides, too, the fellow who had recognized his voice, probably he was a decent sort, too. After all, blackmailers were not in his line. He doubted if he had ever spoken to a real bad hat in his life for long enough to let him recognize his voice.... And perhaps the whole thing had been a trick of his nerves. He had certainly been nervy enough at the time.
“All cobwebs,” he said, “beastly cobwebs!”
Then all the dreadful fears that he had felt ... they were all nothing! It would have broken Pauline’s heart.
“She’s had such rough times, little woman,” he said, “such beastly rough times.”
But though his cobwebs had been imbecile enough, the remembrance of the pain made him wince.
“By Jove! I was nearly mad,” he said.
He had felt insane desires to ask strangers—perfect strangers in the street—whether they were the men who had rung up 4,259 Mayfair.
“By Jove!” he repeated again, “by Jove! And now it’s all over.”