“But, Jack!” she expostulated. “We know he’s not Durham!”
He shrugged his shoulders as he lifted up the telephone receiver.
“What good will it do to proclaim our knowledge?” he asked. “It insists merely on double bigamy—smash-up all round!”
“Then——?” she clutched at him. “You’re going to——?”
He turned to answer the challenge of the telephone operator, gave a number.
“Hallo!—The Newport Hotel—Will you ask Mrs. Durham to come to the telephone, please?—She’s staying at Room 363—right!—I’ll hold on!”
“Jack! Jack!” His wife implored him. “It’s not right—it can’t be right!—We must tell her!”
His attention was claimed by the telephone.
“Hallo!—Is that Mrs. Durham?—My name’s Satterthwaite, no, you won’t recognize it.—Your husband has met with a slight accident—nothing serious—he’s here and he wants to know if you’ll come round and fetch him as he feels rather shaky—yes——” he gave the address, “—yes—ground-floor flat. Very good. We’ll expect you.”