“Very good,” exclaimed Sholmes, “very neatly played. And now you have some business in England?”
“Yes, some accounts to square up.... But I forgot ... what about Monsieur d’Imblevalle?”
“He knows everything.”
“All! my dear Sholmes, what did I tell you? The wrong is now irreparable. Would it not have been better to have allowed me to carry out the affair in my own way? In a day or two more, I should have recovered the stolen goods from Bresson, restored them to Monsieur d’Imblevalle, and those two honest citizens would have lived together in peace and happiness ever after. Instead of that—”
“Instead of that,” said Sholmes, sneeringly, “I have mixed the cards and sown the seeds of discord in the bosom of a family that was under your protection.”
“Mon Dieu! of course, I was protecting them. Must a person steal, cheat and wrong all the time?”
“Then you do good, also?”
“When I have the time. Besides, I find it amusing. Now, for instance, in our last adventure, I found it extremely diverting that I should be the good genius seeking to help and save unfortunate mortals, while you were the evil genius who dispensed only despair and tears.”
“Tears! Tears!” protested Sholmes.
“Certainly! The d’Imblevalle household is demolished, and Alice Demun weeps.”