“Let me see it,” she demanded with the greatest sang froid.
He produced the check, and she took it; but her hand trembled.
“This is certainly a check for two thousand dollars, but I know nothing of it.”
“It was presented at the bank by your son, and cashed.”
“I tell you I know nothing of it. My son is dead, and cannot be questioned now.”
“I have another check here for five thousand dollars, made out to your son and cashed by him also. You will see that the ink has changed color in one part, and that the five has been altered to five thousand. 131 The body of the check is in your handwriting, I believe.”
“Yes, that is my handwriting.”
“The additions were very cleverly made,” ventured Mr. Barnby. “The forger must have imitated your handwriting wonderfully.”
“Yes, it is wonderfully like,” she replied, huskily.
“This check was also presented by your son, and honored by us. Both checks are repudiated by your father, who will only allow us to debit his account with seven dollars. Therefore, we are six thousand, nine hundred and ninety-three dollars to the bad. Mr. Ormsby, our managing director, says we must recover the money somehow. Your son is dead, and cannot explain, as you have already reminded me. Unfortunately, a warrant has been applied for, for his arrest for forgery.”