As luck would have it, the first place I entered was the right one, and as I had surmised, the clerks recognized me at once as Torrence. I had made up my mind how to act, and what to say while walking along the street, having dismissed the carriage as unnecessary, and was fully prepared on finding myself addressed as Mr. Attlebridge.
"By the by," I began quite carelessly. "What was that last—er—that last——"
I purposely halted to give the teller a chance to help me out. This he did, but I was utterly unprepared for the word. I expected to hear deposit, or check, but when the man came to my assistance with the word cable, I was dumfounded. Was Torrence trying to hang himself? However, my common sense returned, and I replied as if suddenly recalling my errand:
"Oh, yes, that was it. Will you let me see it again please, if you have a copy of it?"
I had not the slightest idea what the cablegram was about, but knew that copies of important messages were always preserved, and thought I might as well see this one. In a minute a clerk appeared with the copy in question, and the teller glancing at it for a second to make sure it was the right one, passed it over for my inspection, and I read as follows.
"LONDON, December —, 1894.
"To DEADWOOD AND BATES, BANKERS, New York City.
"Place to the credit of Torrence Attlebridge sixty three thousand eight hundred and forty pounds sterling, and charge same to our account.
"WHITEHOUSE, MORSE & PLUNKET."
I almost choked with astonishment. Here was a single deposit of considerably more than three hundred thousand dollars. No wonder he could so easily afford to give me the check for a thousand pounds. I was provoked that I had not asked for ten times as much. But where did all this money come from in the first instance? I continued to look at the message in amazement, not knowing what to say; and then pulling myself together, remarked, still as if trying to refresh my memory: