“They are not quite strangers, Sir John. The fact is—” he hesitated, “I told you I had mourned them as dead—so have you, Sir John.”
“What?”
“I have given them your address and—”
“You’ve given them my address?” spluttered the old gentleman in rage.
“Yes, Sir John—don’t you understand now? I told you that you too had mourned them as dead.”
Sir John looked sharply at Masters, and as he gazed deep into his eyes he read there the truth. “Alan—Desmond,” he said hoarsely. Masters nodded his head and Sir John sank back into his chair.
“Alan!” he whispered. “Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t joke, man, for God’s sake! Don’t fool me! It can’t be true. It’s six years since the accident. Why the mine has never been in use since—not that part.”
“Don’t you understand the telegram now, sir?” Masters held it out. “They have been away, but now they are back in England.”