"But not checkmate, Bob. I have hopes that it remains with us to score the game."
Neither telegram nor letter had arrived for me at the inn, and a little after eleven I was at the station, awaiting the train. It was punctual to time, and stopped just long enough to enable me to jump in. Then we whirled on to London, which we reached at three o'clock in the morning. At such an hour a visit to Emilia was out of the question, and I had perforce to bide till morning. The delay gave me opportunity for a few hours' sleep, and at nine o'clock I was in the presence of Emilia. Although she received me with signs of perturbation I observed a change in her. Her eyes were brighter, and there was a certain joyousness in her manner which I was glad to see.
"You have had good news," I said.
"I have," she replied, "the best of good news. But what brings you again to London so unexpectedly, dear friend?"
I thought of the secret in my possession which identified Dr. Peterssen's patient, Number One, as Gerald Paget, whom she had mourned as dead for nineteen years. But I did not dare to whisper it to her lest I should inspire delusive hopes. The proof had yet to be established, and until that was done it would be best and most merciful to preserve silence.
"I come entirely upon your business," I said, "and I wish to get back at once."
"How good you are to me!" she murmured. "Never, never can I repay you for all your kindness."
"We will not speak of that. But you can give me some return now. I think I may truly say that I deserve your confidence."
"Indeed, indeed you do."
"I sent you a telegram yesterday."