“Does any one not connected with the office, but who happens in upon some errand or some matter of business, ever find it convenient to write at the table or the desks?”
“I don’t think any one ever did so, except in cases where the writing was done at our requests, or in some way in the interests of business.”
“That is what I thought. Now, Sanford, our paper, that which is intended solely for business purposes and which has our letter head—is that accessible to any one in the office?”
“No, sir,” said Sanford, a trifle coldly; “your orders were otherwise.”
“Very good, Sanford. I am not about to find fault with you, my boy, but tell me if any one—any one connected with the office, I mean, who is there habitually, and is not supposed to need watching—could not one of our own people get possession of a sheet or two of our business tablets, if he tried?”
“If you mean our own fellows,” said Sanford slowly, “I suppose there are half a dozen of our boys who could steal that paper from under my very nose, if they liked, even if I stood on guard. But no stranger has access to my desk, and there’s no other way of getting it from that office.”
“Well,” responded his Chief, “it’s also the only way of getting it from mine. Nevertheless, Sanford, somebody has possessed himself of a sheet or two, and used it for fraudulent purposes.”
Sanford stared, but said nothing.
“Now,”—the chief grew involuntarily more brisk and business-like—“we must clear this matter up. You can give me samples of the handwriting of every one of our men, can’t you?”
“I suppose I can, sir, of one sort or another; letters, reports—”