“Why, it means that his worship don’t think much of the evidence offered to-day,” whispered Sharpthorne. “And to say the truth, it would be strange if he did.”
“We are going to fight it, Sharpthorne; and we are, I hope, going to pot our man,” said Hashby.
“Are you?”
“Well, yes, I think so.”
“We shall see, my friend. Better luck next time, as the butcher said when the rope broke with which he had attempted to hang himself. You haven’t scored much to-day.”
“That I admit, but it isn’t my fault. Was only instructed half an hour before entering the court.”
“Oh, by the way, Mr. Hashby,” observed the magistrate, “you had better leave the cheque in my hands, and I shall then have time to make a careful examination of the same.”
The cheque was handed to the magistrate, who looked at it for some little time.
“I must confess, as far as I can see at present, it seems to be genuine enough. Do you happen to know whether this is the drawer’s signature or not?”
“The bank clerks do not appear to have any doubt about that,” said Hashby. “But the writing in the body of the cheque and the figures have been altered.”