‘It was impossible to find any trace of what he had done. Unless a man has actually taken money dishonestly, he does not confess and pay it back. But there is something very strange about the matter if you cannot find some proof of his own confession in his own accounts.’
‘Was it much?’ asked Maria.
‘Only five thousand francs. But in that year the books showed no change in the rent-roll of the estate—he might have made out that the rents had fallen, so as to pocket the difference, you understand. On the contrary, it was a good year, and the tenants paid punctually; and there were the banker’s receipts for the corresponding deposits, exact to a fraction. Five thousand is not a large sum, but it is a very noticeable one in a matter of business.’
‘I should think so!’ assented Maria, thinking of the limited income on which she had lived for years, and in which a deficit of five thousand francs would have been a serious matter.
‘It is very strange that a man whose business it is to detect frauds in accounts should not be able to find a trace of one that has been confessed by its author, is it not?’
‘Very!’
‘That is my reason for saying that Schmidt may be too intelligent. I hope I am not doing him an injustice in saying so. That is the reason why I want your opinion about him. I really could not ask him how he did it, after forgiving him, and it would have been still more unjust to reveal his secret by asking my banker to compare the receipts purporting to come from him with his own books. I had forgiven him freely; I could not accuse him to another man of having done what he had voluntarily confessed. It would not have been honourable, for my banker would have known at once that I distrusted my steward and suspected him of forging banker’s receipts.’
‘Yes. I see.’