“Oh, quite so,” said she, and resumed her letter again.
Claude’s heart sank. Perhaps she wanted to speak to him about things that were of infinitely greater moment, and he had made a mess of it, repulsed her, by his foolish speech.
“Dora, what is it?” he asked. “Is it——”
She must have known what was in his mind, for she made an impatient gesture of dissent.
“No, if you can give me a minute later on, it will be all right,” she said.
His search was soon rewarded, but proved to be fruitless, for the cheque-book was a new one, and he had only used it for the first time three days ago. But perhaps she would remember something.
“Dora, did I give you a rather big cheque for household bills or anything, while we were in the flat?” he asked.
“Yes, I remember that you did,” she said. “And I remember endorsing it as you drew it to me. Why?”
“Only that there is a cheque that I appear to have drawn for five hundred pounds, just before I left the flat, and for some reason my bankers want to be sure that I did draw it.”
“You mean they think that it may be forged?”