“I’m your servant, Mr Van Heldre,” said Crampton, stiffly. “Go, sir.”
“That money, then?”
“Gone, sir, every note. Five hundred pounds.”
“Dead loss,” said Van Heldre; “but it must be repaid.”
“Humph! pretty opinion you seem to have of me, sir, as a confidential clerk.”
“What do you mean, Crampton?”
“Mean, sir? Why, that I did my duty, and stopped every note at the bank of England of course.”
“You did that, Crampton?”
“Yes, sir; and those notes are of no use to anybody.”
“Capital. Hah! that’s better. Five hundred just coming on the other misfortune worried me. Why, Crampton, that’s a white paper plaister for my sore head.”