“The seventh,” said Freeman, in a sulky tone.
“And this cheque is dated the sixth.”
It was so. In considering the signature they had overlooked the fact that the cheque was anti-dated.
“I think,” said Freyberger, “that this fact confirms my suspicion that the cheque was not written yesterday in Messrs Smith and Wilkinson’s shop.”
“You may be right,” said Freeman, “but I will swear that the person who gave me that cheque was Sir Anthony Gyde.”
“Ah, Mr Freeman,” said Freyberger, in a bitter tone of voice, “if you had only examined that cheque properly, if you had only said to yourself, ‘This could not possibly have been written with my stylograph,’ if you had only jumped across the counter and seized Sir Anthony Gyde, as you call him, you would have helped Justice a long way down a difficult road. But you are a tradesman, suspicious towards the needy, unsuspicious towards the rich. Well, no matter—we will require your evidence at the proper time. Meanwhile, I will impound this cheque, giving the bank a receipt for it.”
He did this.
“If you will apply to our cashier,” said the manager to Freeman, “you will receive the amount due on the cheque, as it is in order, and we have absolute belief in your integrity in the matter, and the cheque has not been stopped by the only person capable of stopping it, Sir Anthony Gyde.”