“No,” said Welsh; “here endeth the second lesson.”
His friend, who had been well brought up, looked a trifle uncomfortable at this quotation.
“I say,” he remarked a few minutes later, “we haven’t finished yet. We’ve got to get the man out again, and hand him back to his friends.”
“Cured,” said Welsh, with a laugh.
“I wonder how he is?”
“We’ll soon see.”
They fell silent again, while the train hurried nearer and nearer London town. Welsh seemed to be musing on some nice point, it might be of conscience, it might also conceivably be of a more practical texture. At last he said, “There’s just one thing, old man. What about the fee?”
“I’ll get a cheque for it, I suppose,” his friend replied, with an almost excessive air of mastery over the problem.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Welsh; “you know what I mean. It’s a delicate question and all that, but, hang it, it’s got to be answered.”
“What has?”