“Take a seat, Mr. Barton. A very unpleasant business has taken place, very much so, indeed. One of our clerks has made away with a great deal of money; we do not yet know the particulars; we only found it out yesterday afternoon. We sent for one of the books which he kept, as we wished to compare it with another; on doing so we discovered some extraordinary discrepancies; we sent down to him, but he was gone—had left immediately the book was taken up to us. We sent up to his house, but of course he had been in and gone out again. We put the police on his scent last night, but as I was coming up to town this morning, I remembered that you knew his face, as he was several times at your office about that case of forgery you followed up for us; his name was Symes—David Symes.”
“I remember, sir, a fair young man.”
“Just so; we shall offer two hundred pounds reward for his capture.”
“Very well, sir,” Mr. Barton said, “I will lose no time. I will telegraph down to my agents in Liverpool and Southampton. The police are sure to watch Dover and Folkestone, and I will myself see about the London shipping. If he is still in the country, depend upon it we shall catch him, sir.”
“Reuben,” Mr. Barton said to one of the lads in his office, upon his return, “go at once and see Jonah Moss and Levi, and tell them to go to all the slop shops in Houndsditch and eastward, and find out if a young man of about thirty, fair, with bluish eyes, and very little whisker, looking like a gentleman, bought any sea clothes down there last night. If so, bring me a description.”
“You need not trouble yourself, Mr. Barton,” a man said, coming into the office. “Perhaps I can give you the information you want.”
Mr. Barton looked at him steadily, then opened the door leading into the inner office, motioned to the man to enter, followed him in, and closed the door carefully after him. He then took another steady observation of his visitor. He was dressed as a sailor, with a few little bits of finery, a chain and rings, such as foreign sailors affect. He was swarthy and dark, with black hair falling in little curls. He was the beau ideal of a sailor from the shores of the Mediterranean.
“A very good get-up, Mr. Symes,” Mr. Barton said quietly, “really very creditable; pass muster very well in the street, but would hardly deceive anyone on the watch for you. Don’t you think it is just the least bit rash for you to come here?”
“Rash! not a bit of it,” the man laughed; “the very best thing I could do.”
“I suppose you know I have just come from the Bank.”