He took out a note-book from his pocket and handed Rupert a wad of notes. "There's a hundred pounds there, half in English, half in dollar notes. When the radium mine booms you'll have more money than you know what to do with. Now then, just before you close the door on the past and lock it, is there anything I can do for you in England?"
Rupert walked round to the window and gazed out. Down below the bustle and business of life; the buying and selling, the loving and hating of the streets. Beyond, the shimmer of the blue sea, which for him meant safety. And, above, the dome of the blue sky, which for him meant liberty!
He wondered when he would grow accustomed to it.
"You will take care of Marjorie. Whatever happens, whether you marry her or not, don't let Despard get hold of her."
"You need have no fear on that score, old man."
There was a short silence. Rupert was still standing with his back to Jim, staring out of the window.
"There's a letter I'd like to write—to some one; some one very dear to me. I don't know where she is now. But I daresay you could find her. Perhaps you can guess——"
"You mean Miss Strode?"
Rupert nodded. He gave Jim her address and the name of the theatre where she had last played. "I want her to know that I'm well and safe—and—happy. Don't forget to emphasize the fact that I'm happy—because, perhaps it would be safer not to write—if you would see her and give her the message instead."
"I'll see her and give her your message. You mustn't write."