“He was last here on Saturday,” said Lagune. “You have always been inclined to suspicion about him. Have you any grounds?”
“You’d better read this,” said Lewisham, repressing a grim smile, and he handed Lagune Chaffery’s letter.
He glanced at the little man ever and again to see if he had come to the personal portion, and for the rest of the time occupied himself with an envious inventory of the writing appointments about him. No doubt the boy with the big ears had had the same sort of thing ...
When Lagune came to the question of his real identity he blew out his cheeks in the most astonishing way, but made no other sign.
“Dear, dear!” he said at last. “My bankers!”
He looked at Lewisham with the exaggerated mildness of his spectacled eye. “What do you think it means?” he asked. “Has he gone mad? We have been conducting some experiments involving—considerable mental strain. He and I and a lady. Hypnotic—”
“I should look at my cheque-book if I were you.”
Lagune produced some keys and got out his cheque book. He turned over the counterfoils. “There’s nothing wrong here,” he said, and handed the book to Lewisham.
“Um,” said Lewisham. “I suppose this—I say, is this right?”
He handed back the book to Lagune, open at the blank counterfoil of a cheque that had been removed. Lagune stared and passed his hand over his forehead in a confused way. “I can’t see this,” he said.