The white countess

by Florence Warden

Audrey’s brave heart quailed. She, too, had vague suspicions that they must have unseen enemies, to find themselves so suddenly in such a sea of difficulties. But she would not let her fears appear. She affected to laugh at his despair, to feel sure that all that was needed was a good solicitor and a clever counsel to find out the truth and to set everything right. But it was excitement and not hope that kept her spirits so high, and that dried up the tears that it would have done her good to let flow.

The horrible fear was stealing into her heart too that all their efforts might not be enough to save her darling husband from the fate that threatened him.

It was the mystery which hung over every step of the great crime which had been committed which paralysed their brains and stupefied them. Who was the culprit who had stolen the cheques? When had the theft been committed? Was this man Gossett the thief and forger?

Audrey, however, recognised at once that their own brains were not clever enough to solve the puzzle, and she would be content with nothing less than the very best legal advice.

“If it costs every shilling we have in the world, Gerard,” said she, “we can afford nothing less than the best brains in England.”

She had not exaggerated the difficulties they had to contend with. Not only the eminent firm of solicitors they consulted, but the counsel whom they employed, admitted the amazing nature of the case. Nay, the poor young couple both felt vaguely, though they would scarcely acknowledge it to each other, that the questions Gerard had to answer pointed to the fact that even his own lawyers suspected him of having been concerned in the theft and in the forgery.

Gerard had received a large number of letters from Sir Richmond, so that he was well acquainted with his handwriting and signature. While the most searching inquiries failed to elicit the fact of any person’s having had access to the cheque-book with the exception of Gerard and Sir Richmond himself.

Moreover, the man Gossett, who was prepared to swear that Gerard had asked him to take one of the cheques to be cashed, was proved to be a man against whom nothing was known except that he occasionally drank to excess; he lived simply in lodgings off the Tottenham Court Road, and had not been known to indulge in any expense since the date of the cashing of the cheque.

His story was that he had long known Gerard Angmering by sight but not by name, through frequenting the same luncheon-bar. He had often spoken to him, though he had no idea that he belonged to the Bank of the Old Country and Colonies. When the young man had asked him to cash a cheque for him at that bank, Gossett asserted that he agreed to do so, without any thought of harm; that he brought the money in gold and notes to Gerard, who was waiting for him outside Stott’s, the luncheon-bar in question. He further alleged that he had received nothing for his trouble, and that he had thought nothing further of it until he was challenged by one of the senior clerks in the bank, who happened to meet him in the street in that neighbourhood, as the man who had cashed the cheque.

That was the whole sum and substance of the information at the disposal of both sides. The cheque had been made payable to Joseph Partridge, “to order,” and the amount was seven hundred and sixty-five pounds. This had been paid in gold and notes, but not one of the notes had been traced.