“Has Mr. Scriver come in yet?”
“No, sir, he haven’t.”
“Perhaps the rain has kept him.”
“Mr. Scriver said that when you come back, sir, there was a letter on the table as was for you.”
“Ah, so there is. Thank you, that will do.”
The author opened the letter and read as follows:
“MY DEAR MR. RINGAMY,—Your arguments the other day fully convinced me
that you were right, and I was wrong (“Ah! I thought they would,”
murmured the author). I have therefore taken a step toward putting your
theories into practice. The scheme is an old one in commercial life,
but new in its present application, so much so that I fear it will find
no defenders except yourself, and I trust that now when I am far away
(“Dear me, what does this mean!” cried the author) you will show any
doubters that I acted on the principles which will govern the world
when the theories of ‘Gazing Upward’ are put into practice. For fear
that all might not agree with you at present, I have taken the
precaution of going to that undiscovered country, from whose bourne no
extradition treaty forces the traveler to return—sunny Spain. You said
you could not tell my rendition of your signature from your own.
Neither could the bank cashier. My exact mutation of your signature has
enabled me to withdraw £10,000 from your bank account. Half the
profits, you know. You can send future accumulations, for the book will
continue to sell, to the address of
“ADAM SCRIVER.
“Poste Restant, Madrid, Spain”
Mr. Ringamy at once put the case in the hands of the detectives, where it still remains.