"Veil?" demanded the other.
"There was a police officer," began Lucas obediently; "his name was Semianoff;" and in bald, halting words he told the story. He told it absently, languidly, for no words within his reach could convey the thing as it dwelt in his memory, the warmth and color of it, its uplifting and transfiguring quality.
The man behind the pigeon-hole heard him intently.
"Yes," he said again, as Lucas finished. "You are de man. Ve do not reguire further broof, Mr. Lugas."
He produced a slip of paper and a pen which he laid on the ledge before his pigeon-hole.
"I am instrugted to say dat if you vill fill in and sign dis cheque, ve vill cash it."
"Eh?" Lucas was slow to understand.
"Ve vill cash it," repeated the other. "You fill it in—and sign it— and I vill cash it now."
"But"—Lucas took the pen from him in mere obedience to his gesture— "but—what for?"
"My instrugtions are to cash it—no more!"