Then it occurred to him the whole business of the Corporation had been done in his—Reginald’s—name, that all the circulars had been signed by him, and that all the money had come addressed to him. Then there was that awkward mistake about his name, which, accidental or intentional, was Mr Medlock’s doing. And beyond all that was the fact that Mr Medlock had taken away the only record Reginald possessed of the names of those who had replied to the circulars and sent money.
He found himself confronted with a mountain of responsibility, of which he had never before dreamed, and for the clearing of which he was entirely dependent on the good faith of a man who had, not a week ago, played him one of the meanest tricks imaginable.
What was he to make of it—what else could he make of it except that he was a miserable dupe, with ruin staring him in the face?
His one grain of comfort was in the names of some of the directors. Unless that list were fictitious, they would not be likely to allow a concern with which they were identified to collapse in discredit. Was it genuine or not?
His doubts on this question were very speedily resolved by a letter which arrived that very afternoon.
It was dated London, and ran as follows:—
“Cruden Reginald, Esquire.
“Sir,—The attention of the Bishop of S— having been called to the unauthorised, and, as it would appear, fraudulent use of his name in connection with a company styled the Select Agency Corporation, of which you are secretary, I am instructed, before his lordship enters on legal proceedings, to request you to furnish me with your authority for using his lordship’s name in the manner stated. Awaiting your reply by return, I am, sir, yours, etcetera,—
“A. Turner, Secretary.”
This was a finishing stroke to the disillusion. In all his troubles and perplexities the good Bishop of S— had been a rock to lean on for the poor secretary.