"
Jimmy brought back this information, having, on top of it, acquired a
bedroom suite of painted deal. "And there," said he, "the matter
must rest. Foe's gone, and Farrell's gone. Both decent, in their
way; and both, but for foolish temper, alive now and hearty."
So it seemed to be, and the book to be closed. I mourned for Jack,
yet not as I should have mourned for him a year or two before.
Jimmy married and left me, and soon after I moved from our old
quarters in the Temple to my present rooms in Jermyn Street.
Four years passed: and then, one fine morning, my door opened, and
John Foe called me by name.
"Hallo, Roddy! How goes it?"
I jumped up, in a pretty bad scare. It was the voice that did it:
for, my door making an angle with the window, and the day being
sunny, he stood there against a strong light--sort of silhouette
effect, as you might put it. And there was a something about him,
thus gloomed--but we'll talk of that by and by. The voice was Jack
Foe's, and none other.
"It's all right," he went on easily. "Pull yourself together.
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