“I’m very sorry to hear it, sir. The first check for two thousand dollars looks very much as though it had been altered, having been originally for two dollars; and, in the second check, made out to Mr. Swinton, the same kind of alteration occurs—five seems to have been changed into five thousand.”
“What!” screamed the old man, raising himself on one hand and extending the other. “Let me look! Let me look!” 96
His bony claw was outstretched, every finger quivering with excitement.
“These are the checks, sir. That is your correct signature, I believe?”
“I never signed them—I never signed them. Take them away. They’re not mine.”
“Pardon me, sir, the signature is undoubtedly yours. Do you remember signing any check for two dollars or for five?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I gave her two—yes—and I gave her five—for the boy.”
“Just so, sir. Well, some fraudulent person has altered the figures. You’ll see, if you look through this magnifying glass, holding the glass some distance from the eyes, that the ink of the major part of the check is different. When Mr. Swinton presented these checks, the ink was new, and the alterations were not apparent. But, in the course of time, the ink of the forgery has darkened.”
“The scoundrel!” cried the old man in guttural rage. “I always said he’d come to a bad end—but I never believed it—never believed it. Let me look again. The rascal! The scoundrel! Do you mean to say he has robbed your bank of seven thousand dollars?”
“No, he has robbed you, sir,” replied the bank-manager, with alacrity, for his instructions were to drive home, at all costs, the fact that it was Herresford 97 who had been swindled, and not the bank. They knew the man they were dealing with, and had no fancy for fighting on technical points. Unfortunately for the bank, Mr. Barnby was a little too eager.