“Yes.”
“Well, then, she’s bound to see how you’re getting on. She’ll see your name in the magazines, in newspapers and in books. She’ll know you don’t write for nothing, and she’ll make calculations.”
I was staggered.
“You mean—?” I said.
“Why, it will occur to her before long that your statement of your income doesn’t square with the rest of the evidence; and she’ll wonder why you pose as a pauper when you’re really raking in the money with both hands. She’ll think it over, and then she’ll see it all.”
“I see,” I said, dully. “Well, you’ve taken my last holiday from me. I’ll write to her tonight, telling her the truth.”
“I shouldn’t, necessarily. Wait a week or two. You may quite possibly hit on some way out of the difficulty. I’m bound to say, though, I can’t see one myself at the moment.”
“Nor can I,” I said.
CHAPTER 10
TOM BLAKE AGAIN
(James Orlebar Cloyster’s narrative continued)