‘That,’ said the stranger, ‘then, Miss Mohun, you know this draft?’
‘Only it was for seven,’ repeated Dolores.
‘You mean, I conclude, that it was drawn for seven pounds, and that it was still for seven when it left your handy?’
‘Yes,’ muttered Dolores, who was beginning to get very much frightened, at she knew not what, and to feel on her guard at all points.
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, my dear,’ said Uncle Reginald, tenderly; ‘nobody suspects you of anything. Only tell us. Did your father give you this paper?’
‘Yes.’
‘And when did you cash it?’ asked the clerk.
Dolores hung her head. ‘I didn’t,’ she said.
‘But how did it get out of your possession?’ said her uncle. ‘You are sure this is your own writing at the back. It could surely not have been stolen from her?’ he added to the stranger.
‘That could hardly be,’ said that person. ‘Miss Mohun, you had better speak out. To whom did you give this cheque?’