“I confess, Baron, I do not.”
“You shall, however. Here is the case—a political refugee, like Monsieur Yelland Mace——”
“But he was no such thing.”
“Well, a criminal—any man in such a situation is, for me, a political refugee zat, for reasons, desires to revisit his country, and yet must be so thoroughly disguised zat by no surprise, and by no process, can he be satisfactorily recognised; he comes to me, tells me his case, and says, ‘I desire, Baron, to become your patient,’ and so he places himself in my hands, and so—ha, ha! You begin to perceive?”
“Yes, I do! I think I understand you clearly. But, Lord bless me! what a nefarious trade!” exclaimed Uncle David.
The baron was not offended; he laughed.
“Nevertheless,” said he, “There's no harm in that. Not that I care much about the question of right or wrong in the matter; but there's none. Bah! who's the worse of his going back? or, if he did not, who's the better?”
Uncle David did not care to discuss this point in ethics, but simply said,—
“And Mr. Longcluse was also a patient of yours?”
“Yes, certainly,” said the baron.