Two minutes afterwards he was in a hansom cab, being driven rapidly to the other end of London.
George walked on towards the office, and just as he got to Gutter Lane some one tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned, and beheld to his astonishment the same dark face and hook nose that had attracted his attention at the bank.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said the stranger; ‘but have you just presented a cheque at the bank?’
‘Yes,’ said George; ‘why do you ask?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ replied the stranger. ‘I’m a detective.’
George started and coloured.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, ‘but I really can’t see what that has to do with it.’
‘I’ll tell you. Don’t make a fuss; just listen to me, for what I’m going to say is for your good. I want to save you from a jolly mess.’
What on earth did the man mean? George had plenty of courage, but he really felt alarmed at being talked to like this by a detective.