Jerry took a note from his breast, and held it so that the invalid could see first that it was not addressed, the envelope being blank; and then, slowly turning it round, so that Dick could see a crest stamped in colours upon the back.
That had its effect, for a flush came into the invalid’s hollow cheeks, and he glared at Jerry.
“Where did you get that?” he cried.
“He give it me.”
“Well?”
“To give to you. I see him the day before yesterday, and he told me to come to his rooms, and asked me about the bandsman whom the fellows said saved three people, and what your name might be. Then he asked if it was you who pulled him out, and I said it was, feeling quite queer the while; for it seemed so strange that you should have saved his life after all as took place. Then he set down at his table, looking not a bit the worse, asked how you spell your name, and I told him Richard Smithson, and he wrote this and sent it by me.”
“Do you know what’s in it?”
Jerry nodded.
“Then he recognised me?”
“No—he don’t even know that he ever see you.”