"You're too kind," murmured Hyane. "Make it an open cheque, Mr. Tibbetts—I have to pay the agents in cash. These Indian merchants are so suspicious."
Bones wrote the cheque rapidly, marked it "Pay Cash," and initialled the corrections, then tore the slip from the book and handed it to the other.
"Of course, Mr. Tibbetts," said Hyane reverentially, "I regard half this as a loan to me and half as a loan to my dear wife. We shall never forget your kindness."
"Rot!" said Bones. "Nonsense! I hope you'll be happy, and will you tell her——" He swallowed something.
There was a faint tinkle of a bell in the hall, and Ali, his servant, poked an ebony face round the corner of the door.
"Sir," he said, "the telephonic apparatus demands conversation."
Bones was glad of the interruption, and, with a muttered apology to his gratified guest, he strode out into the hall. Ali had accustomed himself to answering the telephone, but this time he had not understood the preliminary inquiry from exchange.
"Hello!" said Bones into the transmitter.
"Who's that?"
At the sound of the voice which answered him he nearly dropped the receiver.