The inevitable _de_
suggested the story, and papers that I found in his trunk--papers
most carefully guarded and cherished--told enough of it to whet my
appetite to its keenest edge. If the owner could only be made to
talk, if his stubborn family pride could only be overcome, there
was every promise here of a sensation by means of which who could
tell but belated justice might even be done him and his family--apart
from the phenomenal trouncing I should be administering through
him to my rivals. Visions of conspiracies, court intrigues,
confiscations, and what not, danced before my greedy mental vision.
I flew rather than walked up to Bellevue Hospital to offer him my
paper and pen in the service of right and of vengeance, only to
find that I was twenty-four hours late. The patient had already
been transferred to the Charity Hospital as a bad case. The boat
had gone; there would not be another for several hours. I could not
wait, but it was a comfort, at all events, to know that my baron
was where I could get at him on the morrow. I dreamed some more
dreams of happiness as I went back, and was content.
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