"Well—"
The expectation was justified. The young man did bounce off the chair. He pulled a bundle of large folded papers out of his pocket, disengaged one of them and held it out.
"Well, look," he said. "What d' you think this is?"
Simon unfolded the document. It was printed on crisp heavy paper and very beautifully engraved; it looked as if it might have been valuable, but most men would have studied it for some time before venturing to define it. Simon held it up to the light, rubbed it between his fingers and flipped it back onto the table.
"It seems to be one of the new American government short-term loan thousand-dollar bearer bonds," he said in much the same way as he might have said, "It seems to be a bus ticket to Wimbledon"; but his blue had settled into a quiet and rather watchful interestedness.
Graham pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"My God," he said. He breathed heavily once or twice. "Well, that's what I'd come to the conclusion it was, only I couldn't believe it. I thought I'd better make sure. You know, I've read about those things in stories, like everybody else, but I'd never seen one before. My God!"
He blinked down at the handful of papers which he was still clutching and threw them down on the table beside the specimen.
"Look," he said in an awe-stricken voice. "There's thirty-four more of 'em. That's thirty-five thousand dollars — seven thousand pounds — isn't it?"
Simon picked up the collection and glanced through them.