"If only Walworth were here. His wit would hit on something."
"Walworth unfortunately is ten thousand miles away. So it is no use thinking of him. But see, here is the warder—your time is up. Good-bye, dear Janet. I pray that you may find it in your heart to forgive me for having brought this trouble upon you."
But Janet, who by this time had learned to love this fascinating girl with all her heart, would listen to no such talk. When the door opened, like the kind sister she was, she went out first, thus permitting us an opportunity of saying farewell alone. When I joined her again I had a little note in my waistcoat pocket that seemed somehow to make me a happier man than I had been for hours past.
From the prison I drove Janet to her own house and then went back to Cavendish Square.
When I had dismissed the cabman I let myself in and proceeded to my consulting room. Opening the door, I walked in, only to come to a sudden halt before a man sitting in my own armchair. He was small and queerly built, wore a long coat that reached nearly to his heels, had gray hair, a ferociously curled moustache, and a short, closely cropped white beard. The effect, when he looked at me over the edge of the paper he was perusing, was most comical. For a moment I stood bewildered, but I was destined to be even more so when he rose and came toward me, holding out his hand, and saying:
"Bon jour, Monsieur!" Then in broken English, "Pray, do you not remember your very old friend?"
I thought and thought, but for the life of me could not recollect ever having seen his face before. I was about to speak when he stopped me, and changing his voice said in excellent English:
"No! I can see you don't." Then pulling off his wig: "Well! Do you now?"
It was Walworth!
CHAPTER XIV.