“That swine!”
“No, he wasn’t such a swine as Jenkins,” said Ommony. “Kananda Pal was a poor devil who was born into a black art family. He didn’t know any better. His father used to make him stare into ink-pools and all that devilment before he was knee-high to a duck. He used to do stunts with spooks and things. Jenkins, on the other hand, had a decent heritage and ditched it. It was he who invited Kananda Pal to hypnotize Elsa. Between the two of them they did a devil’s job of it. She almost lost her mind, and Jenkins had the filthy gall to use that as excuse for breaking the engagement.”
“My God! But think if he had married her! Man, man!”
“True. But think of the indecency of making that excuse! I called in Fred Terry—”
“Top-hole—generous—gallant—gay! Man, what a delightful fellow Terry was!” said McGregor. “Did he really fall in love with her? You know, he was recklessly generous enough to—”
“Yes,” said Ommony. “He almost cured her; and he fell in love. She loved him—don’t see how any real woman could have helped it. But Jenkins and Kananda Pal—oh, curse them both!”
“Amen!” remarked McGregor. “Well—we’ve got what we want. How did you hear of these letters?—Just think of it! That poor girl writing to a brute like Jenkins to give her mind back to her. So that she may—oh, my God!”
“I saw Kananda Pal before he died. That was recently. He was quite sorry about his share in the business. He tried to put all the blame on Jenkins—you know how rotters always accuse each other when the cat’s out of the bag. He told me of the letters, so I went to Jenkins yesterday and, having resigned, I was in position to be rather blunt. In fact, I was dam’ blunt. He denied their existence at first, but he handed ’em over when I explained what I intended to do if he didn’t!”
“I wonder why he’d kept them,” said McGregor.
“The pig had kept them to prove she was mad, if any one should ever accuse him of having wronged her,” Ommony answered. “Do they read like a mad-woman’s letters?”