Still, Ravengar happened to be
the man I wanted to deal with, and so I didn't let any stupid resentment
on my part stop me from dealing with him. He was a scoundrel, but he
played the game, I may incidentally mention. I venture to give this
frank opinion about one of your most important clients, because he'll be
dead before you read this, Polycarp. At least, I expect so.
Well, the day I called specially with a view to seeing her she was not
there. She had left Ravengar's employment, and disappeared. Ravengar
seemed to be rather perturbed about it. But perhaps he was perturbed
about the suicide which had recently taken place in his office. I felt
it--I mean I felt her disappearance. However, the memory of her face
gave me something very charming to fall back on in moments of
depression, and it was at this time something occurred sufficient to
make me profoundly depressed for the remainder of my life. I was over in
Paris, and seeing a good deal of Darcy, my friend the English doctor
there. We were having a long yarn one night in his rooms over the Cafe
Americain, and he said to me suddenly: 'Look here, old chap, I'm going
to do something very unprofessional, because I fancy you'll thank me for
it.' He said it just like that, bursting out all of a sudden.
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