"I brought the cheque with me and had a long talk with one of the partners. That's why I'm so late. There's no doubt about it, Eric! Mr. Cranborne—told me—as a banker—that he was prepared to honour the cheque—is that the phrase?—as being signed by Jack—on that day. What does it mean, Eric? I want you to explain it all."
A voluble waiter was gesticulating and seeking instructions about the wine.
"Oh, open it now!" Eric exclaimed without turning round. A moment later the champagne was creaming slowly up his glass. He drained it, coughed once and collected himself.
"Let's first hear what Cranborne said," he suggested.
"Oh, he had all sorts of theories! That Jack had lost his memory—he remembered his name all right—; that some one had found the cheque on his body after the push and altered the date—a cheque for ten pounds—; that he'd tried to escape, and those brutes had punished him by not letting us know he was a prisoner.… It doesn't matter, does it, Eric? He's alive! That's what I want you to say to me! He's alive!"
"He was alive on the ninth of October," he amended.
"Weeks after the push? Then he's alive now! Isn't he, Eric? He must be! I was right in believing.… Eric, will you think me an awful pig, if we waste the tickets to-night? I'd so much, much sooner sit and talk to you. It's so wonderful! It's like a man rising from the dead! It's——"
"You must get some food inside you," he ordered prosaically. "Take your time. Don't try to tell me all about it in one breath."
She gulped a mouthful of fish and looked up with brimming eyes.
"Oh, Eric, if you only understood what it meant.…" Her expression changed to blank fear. "You do believe he's still alive?"