“Do,” said Mr Merrett.
And so this first painful interview ended. My feelings on finding myself once more at my desk among my fellow-clerks may be more easily imagined than described.
My indignation and sense of injury would scarcely allow me to think calmly on my position. That my employers should be ready, on the testimony of such a fellow as Hawkesbury, to believe a charge like this against me, was simply unbearable, and my own helplessness to prove my innocence only added tenfold to my trouble. Oh! if Jack were only here, I might get some light.
I hurriedly dashed off a note to him, telling him all, and begging him to come. Yet what was the use of writing when I was not allowed to leave the office to post the letter?
I only wished Mr Barnacle would come back from the bank, and that I might know the worst.
As for Hawkesbury, he had shut himself up in his glass box, and was invisible.
Presently, not a little to my comfort, Doubleday returned. Fortunately, Crow was in another part of the office at the time, so that before he delivered his message I had time for a hurried consultation.
“Doubleday,” said I, in a whisper, “I am accused of stealing a cheque; can you help me out?”
“Guilty, or not guilty?” inquired Doubleday, taking a practical view of the case at once. This was pleasant, but it was no time to be particular.
“It is a lie from beginning to end, invented by Hawkesbury to shield himself from a similar charge.”