The pause, psychically so momentous, was but short in duration, and Claude jumped up. His mind was already quite decided: it seemed to have decided itself without conscious interference on his part.
“Good morning, Jim,” he said. “I must apologize for making an invasion in your absence, but I had to refer back to an old cheque-book.”
Jim commanded his voice.
“Nothing wrong, I hope,” he said.
Again Claude had to make a swift decision. He could tell Jim that a cheque of his had been forged, and that the matter was already in the hands of the bank: that probably would force a confession, if there was cause for one. But it would still be his dislike (though he might easily call it justice) that was the mover here. There was a wiser way than that, a way that, for all the surface falsehood of it, held a nobler truth within.
“No, nothing whatever is wrong,” he said. “Excuse me: I must telephone to the bank, to say the cheque is all right. Ah, I’ll telephone from here if you will allow me.”
The telephone was just outside and Jim heard plainly all that passed. The number was rung up, and then Claude spoke.
“Yes, I’m Mr. Claude Osborne. I am speaking to Mr. Grayson, am I? It is the matter that Mr. Humby came to speak to me about this morning. Yes, yes: the cheque for £500. I find I have made a complete error. The cheque was drawn by me and is perfectly correct. Yes. It was very stupid of me. Please let Mr. Humby know as soon as he gets back. Yes. Thank you. Good morning.”
Claude paused a moment with the receiver in his hand. Then he called to Jim.
“Can’t stop a moment,” he said. “I’ve the devil of a lot to do. Good-bye.”