The writing was apparently a hurried scrawl, but the letters were large and quite legible. They appeared to have been written on an uneven surface, for there were several jogs and breaks in the writing, as if the pen had slipped.
“This is curious,” remarked Orme.
The clerk blinked his watery eyes and looked at the bill in Orme’s hand. “Oh, yes, sir,” he explained. “I remember that. The gentleman who paid it in this morning called our attention to it.”
“If he’s the man who wrote this, he probably doesn’t know that there’s a law against defacing money.”
“But it’s perfectly good, isn’t it?” inquired the clerk. “If you want another instead——”
“Oh, no,” laughed Orme. “The banks would take it.”
“But, sir——” began the clerk.
“I should like to keep it. If I can’t get rid of it, I’ll bring it back. It’s a hoax or an endless chain device or something of the sort. I’d like to find out.”
He looked again at the writing. Puzzles and problems always interested him, especially if they seemed to involve some human story.
“Very well,” said the clerk, “I’ll remember that you have it, Mr.——” he peered at the name he had set down—“Mr. Orme.”