“No,” answered the monocle-man. “What I have done for you was only incidental and my reward was the enjoyment I got out of the affair—in watching how the threads crossed and recrossed, and how they tangled and untangled. It was better than going to a show. It made work a pleasure. Besides, I shall be well rewarded for what I have accomplished in another direction.” Looking toward the cell.
“I tried to get him in England and failed. In France, the story was the same. He is rather a remarkable personality. A born criminal and an actor, as well! Of good family, he wedged his way into society, through the all-round amateur athletic route. He was generally well liked.” Bob thought of Miss Gerald and looked down. He couldn’t help wondering if she would not greatly have preferred his (Bob’s) occupying that cell, instead of the other man who had seemed to interest her so much.
“Now for Mrs. Dan,” observed the commodore, jubilantly waving the stenographic report. “This will bring her to time.”
“And my wife, too!” said Clarence with equal joy.
“I thought I would save you gentlemen some trouble and so have already placed the report in the ladies’ hands,” said the monocle-man affably. “Indeed, they came to me afterward and told me they had been shamefully deceived. Mrs. Dan looked as if she had had a good cry—from joy, no doubt. Mrs. Clarence’s voice was tremulous. Same cause, I am sure. I think you will find them contrite and anxious to make up.”
“This is great,” said Dan.
“Glorious!” observed Clarence.
“Think of it! No public disgrace!”
“No being held up as monsters in the press!”
“It’s too good to be true.” The commodore threw out his arms and advanced toward the monocle-man.