"If there is one, there may be more," remarked Mr. Ashley. "The fact is, William, the cheque has been traced. It was changed at White's, the butcher; and the person changing it wore a cloak, it seems, very much like yours."
"Indeed!" cried William, with animation. "Well, sir, of course there may be many such cloaks in the town. All I can say is, I have not seen them."
"There can't be many," spoke up the sergeant, "if it be the old-fashioned sort of thing described to me."
William looked the sergeant full in the face with his open countenance, his honest eyes. No guilt there. "Would you like to see my cloak?" he asked. "It may be a guide, if you think the one worn resembled it."
The sergeant nodded. "I was going to ask you to bring it in, if it was here."
William brought it in. "It is one of the bygones," said he laughing. "I have some thoughts of forwarding it to the British Museum, as a specimen of antiquity. Stay! I will put it on, that you may see its beauties the better."
He threw the cloak over his shoulders, and exhibited himself off, as he had done once before in that counting-house for the benefit of Samuel Lynn. "I think the British Museum will get it," he continued, in the same joking spirit. "Not until winter's over, though. It is a good friend on a cold night."
Sergeant Delves' eyes were riveted on the cloak. "Where have I seen that cloak?" he mused, in a dreamy tone. "Lately, too!"
"You may have seen me in it," said William.
The sergeant shook his head. He lifted one hand to his temples, and proceeded to rub them gently, as if the process would assist his memory, never once relaxing his gaze.