Just as they were seated at tea, Shaw, the footman, brought a card to his mistress, who glanced at it, and said:
“Oh! It’s Mr. Elton! I wonder why he wants to see me? Ask him in here.”
The man bowed, and a few moments later a tall, clean-shaven business man was ushered in. In a second it was plain that he was considerably perturbed.
“Mrs. Beverley,” he said, glancing at Sylvia and Geoffrey, “I am very sorry to disturb you with a most unpleasant matter. May I see you alone?”
“Unpleasant matter!” gasped the South American woman. “What do you mean? Whatever you have to say can be said right here.”
“You have a Madame Claudet staying with you. You introduced her to me, and she opened a small account at our bank,” he said. “Well—I may as well tell you that I have the police outside, and I am here to give her into custody!”
Mrs. Beverley stood open-mouthed.
“Custody!” she gasped. “For what?”
“She called at the bank this morning, and changed seventy-four thousand five-hundred francs in French notes for English notes. These were, at noon, sent along to the head office in Lombard Street, where they have been found to be marvellously clever forgeries!”
“Impossible!” declared Mrs. Beverley, utterly staggered.