"We shall be very grateful. Meanwhile don't talk about it—to anybody."
Eric refrained from giving a promise, for he knew that he would have to tell Barbara the following week. Within three hours of his return to London he had set half-a-dozen telephone wires humming, and, before leaving his department, the newly-found freemasonry of the public service had supplied him with all available information. Officially, Captain Waring was "missing;" but his name had not been reported from any German source; unofficially, the War Office had a copy of Major Britwell's letter to Colonel Waring. Nothing more was known. On the other hand, a great deal of new information was pouring in since the convention for the exchange of wounded prisoners. If Captain Waring were incapacitated and if the official German conscience were not too uneasy, he might have the luck to be transferred to Switzerland at any moment.
Eric sent a report to Colonel Waring and wrote to Barbara that night for the first time in three months. "I want you to know as soon as possible that Jack was alive last December. That's eleven months ago, and he may be alive still; the family simply doesn't know. I'll tell you the full story when we meet."
In thanking him, she suggested a night for dining together on her return; and Eric spent three days that were as restless and insupportable as the three hours before a first night. It would hurt intolerably if she behaved as a stranger, when they met; almost as intolerably if she threw herself into his arms—and forced him to remember what he was threatened with losing.
On the evening before they were to meet, the telephone rang, and Manders' voice, brisk and cheerful, enquired if Eric was likely to be at the Thespian Club that night.
"I wanted to talk about this play of yours," he explained. "Well, can you lunch to-morrow, say, half-past one?"
"Yes. I should like to. What do you think of it, Manders?"
There was a pause.
"It's too long to discuss now."
"You can just say whether you like it or not."