“The cheque came through to-day,” he said; “it was cashed two days ago at Shepherd’s Bank, quite regularly. But it is drawn by you to ‘self’ over a week ago. That was a little curious, since cheques drawn to self are usually cashed at once. Also, though that is no business of ours, it is a rather large sum, five hundred pounds, to take in cash. You have banked with us for some years, Mr. Osborne, and we find you have never drawn a large sum to yourself before. But the combination of these things seemed to warrant us in making sure the cheque was—ah, genuine. The handwriting appears to be yours.”
Claude looked at the date.
“June 24,” he said. “I did draw a large cheque about that time for a motor-car.”
“That has been presented; it was drawn to Daimler’s,” said Mr. Humby.
Claude turned the cheque over: it was endorsed with his name, but search how he might he could not recollect anything about it. And slowly his inability to remember deepened into the belief that he had drawn no such cheque.
“If you would refer to your cheque-book,” said Mr. Humby, “we could clear the matter up. I am sorry for giving you so much trouble.”
“The question is, Where is my cheque-book?” said Claude. “I came over here a week ago, but before that I was at my flat. But I will look.”
He went upstairs, into the sitting room, which was his and Dora’s. She was sitting there now, writing notes, and looked up as he came in.
“Claude, can I speak to you for a minute?” she said.
“Yes, dear, but not this moment. I have to find my cheque-book. Where do you suppose it is? One must attend to business, you know.”