The man sat up and produced a shabby cardcase from his pocket, and, as he took out a number of cards and spread them out like the “hand” of a whist player, I caught a twinkle in Thorndyke’s eye.
“My name is Augustus Bailey,” said the man. He selected the appropriate card, and, having scribbled his address on it with a stump of lead pencil, relapsed into his former position.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Chater, lingering for a moment by the table. “Now we’ll go. Good-bye, Mr. Bailey. I shall write tomorrow, and you must attend seriously to the advice of an old friend.”
I held open the door for her to pass out and looked back before I turned to follow. Bailey still sat sobbing quietly, with his hand resting on his arms; and a little pile of gold stood on the corner of the table.
“I expect, doctor,” said Mrs. Chater, as Thorndyke handed her into the car, “you’ve written me down a sentimental fool.”
Thorndyke looked at her with an unwonted softening of his rather severe face and answered quietly, “It is written: Blessed are the Merciful.”
THE OLD LAG
PART I
THE CHANGED IMMUTABLE