They rushed at him, dragged him out of the fire. . . . “Apoplexy,” Reggie said. “I thought it was coming.” The detective’s eyebrows asked him a question. Reggie shook his head.
“This warrant won’t run,” said Superintendent Bell. “What was he doing here, sir?”
“Asking for mercy,” Reggie said. “He’s taking the case to a higher court. I wonder. I wonder.”
And that night Victor Lunt died. . . .
A few days afterwards Reggie gave a little dinner to Cranford and Nurse Dauntsey, and Nurse Dauntsey in a shy evening-frock was adorably happy. And in due time, “Have another peach,” Reggie said.
“Do you want to see me blush, Mr. Fortune?” But she took another.
“You can do pleasant things with the stones—he loves me, he loves me not.”
“It’s not interesting any more,” said Nurse Dauntsey, and looked demure.
“I’m off to British Columbia next week,” Cranford announced.
“Alone?” said Reggie, with his eye on Nurse Dauntsey.