Whatever happens I shall make the facts of the case
public. This done, nothing can hurt me; while, whether the Public
Prosecutor intervenes or not, neither Mr. Hugh Mountjoy nor his wife
can ever show face to the world again.
"Tell Mr. Mountjoy, I say, whatever you please, except that I am
joking. You must not tell him that. I shall call to-morrow morning, and
shall expect to find the business as good as done.
"A. V."
Mrs. Vimpany dropped the letter in dismay. Her husband had vanished out
of her life for more than two years. She hoped that she was effectually
hidden; she hoped that he had gone away to some far-off country where
he would never more return. Alas! This world of ours has no far-off
country left, and, even if the wicked man turneth away from his
wickedness so far as to go to the Rocky Mountains, an express train and
a swift boat will bring him back to his wickedness whenever he desires
a little more enjoyment and the society of his old friends.
Mr. Vimpany was back again. What should she do? What would Iris do?
What would Mr. Mountjoy do?
She read the letter again.
Two things were obvious: first, that he had no clue of the restitution;
and, next, that he had no idea of the evidence against him for the
murder of the Dane.
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