Rupert nodded. "Yes, I received it."
"And cashed it?" Sir Reginald spoke.
Rupert started. "No, I——" Again he looked from one man to the other. He felt suddenly guilty. "As a matter of fact, I'm sorry to say I lost it."
"Lost it? You never told me." Dale spoke. "Of course you wrote to the bank?"
Rupert bit his lip. "I forgot all about it—in the excitement of packing up and coming home."
John Dale was about to speak, but Crichton held up his hand. "Did the loss of five pounds mean so little to you, then?" he asked Rupert.
The latter moistened his lips. His sense of guilt increased, though he had only been guilty of gross carelessness. Yet, how could he explain the situation?
"I was fearfully rushed and worried at the time," he said, fumbling for words. "As a matter of fact, the morning I received it I went to the races, and I only discovered the loss when I got back. I must have pulled it out of my bag with some letters and papers. I hope—nothing is wrong?"
Sir Reginald leant forward and stretched out his hand. "Look at this, sir."
Rupert took the slip of paper he held out. It was a cheque. He saw written across the back of it his father's name. He looked at the face of the cheque.