"Well, here it is," said the patient, plunging into the matter as a man into cold water. "A year ago—a year and four weeks, for it was on the third of May—I went down to my office one morning and transacted my business as usual. At twelve o'clock I—er—had occasion to open my safe, a safe of which I alone possess the key. On the top of a deed-box in that safe I found a brown-paper parcel tied with red tape. I was astonished, for I had put no parcel in."
"You might have forgotten," said Oppenshaw.
"I never forget," replied Simon.
"Go on," said Oppenshaw.
"I opened the parcel. It contained bank-notes to the amount of ten thousand pounds."
"H'm—h'm."
"Ten thousand pounds. I could not believe my eyes. I sent for my chief clerk, Brownlow. He could not believe his eyes, and I fear he even doubted the statement of the whole case. Now listen. I determined to go to my bank, Cumber's, and make enquiries as to my balance, ridden by the seemingly absurd idea that I myself had drawn this amount and forgotten the fact. I may say at once this was the truth, I had drawn it, unknown to myself. Well, that was the third of May, and when and where do you think I found myself next?"
"Go on," said Oppenshaw.
"In Paris on the third of June."
"Ah—ah."