Ben quickly informed the paying teller of the new arrival, and he and Snodgrass took a position on the left hand side of the main entrance, where there was a chance of their escaping observation.

Grayson entered the bank with a jaunty step and walked up to the window of the paying teller. He did not stop to write a check for the sum he wished to withdraw, the check being already drawn and inclosed in the book.

According to custom he passed in the book and waited for the money.

The teller eyed him attentively, but did not do so in a manner to excite suspicion.

Opening the book he said, “You drew forty dollars yesterday.”

“Yes,” answered Grayson composedly, “I thought that would be all I should need, but I am making a little investment, and have drawn fifteen dollars more.” “Very well.”

The paying teller took the book and went to the ledger, ostensibly to compare the signature with that on the check. At the same time he whispered to a young employee, who immediately left the bank to summon a policeman.

George Grayson kept his place at the window, looking more cool and unconcerned than he would had he known what was going on.

Somehow there seemed to be a good deal of delay in getting the money. The paying teller occupied a considerable time in turning over the pages of the ledger.

Apparently he had selected the wrong book, for he then went to another and began to examine that. Now and then he turned his eyes to the front entrance.

Grayson suspected nothing at first, but after a while it occurred to him to wonder why he had to wait so long, especially as two other persons had come into the bank and were standing behind him waiting for their turn.

Thus far he had not discovered Ben and his friend the novelist, but chancing to turn his head after a time he caught sight of the two.

Then he understood.

“I must bolt,” he said to himself, and leaving his place he hurried to the door. But he met the boy coming up the steps with a policeman.

The boy spoke a word to the officer, who sprang forward and grasped Grayson by the arm.

“What do you mean?” demanded Grayson haughtily, assuming a look of virtuous innocence.

“Come back into the bank with me,” said the policeman, “and you will learn.”“I am in great haste,” replied Grayson, trying to shake off the officer’s hand.

“Not so fast, my friend,” said the officer.

“This is an outrage,” blustered Grayson. “I have committed no wrong.”

“In that case you won’t be detained long. Come in.”

Grayson, much against his will, had to obey.

By this time the bank official had come out in front of the partition.

“This man has forged a draft on the account of another person,” he said.

“Is the owner of the book here?”

The teller indicated Ben.

“This is a conspiracy,” blustered Grayson, but he was slow in meeting Ben’s eye.

“Is your name Ben Bruce?” demanded the teller.

“Ye-es,” answered Grayson in a tone of hesitation. “That’s a lie,” broke in Sylvanus. “He has always represented himself as George Grayson.”

“I will take him to the station house,” said the officer, “and depend on you to appear as prosecutor.”

These words were addressed to Ben.

Grayson’s face changed. He felt that he was in a tight place.

“Look here, Bruce,” he said insinuatingly, “can’t we fix this thing? I’ve got a ring here that I paid twelve dollars for, and I have a few dollars in my pocket. I’ll give you them, and agree to pay the balance as soon as possible if you’ll let me go.”

“Shall I be allowed to do this?” asked Ben, who felt disposed to be lenient.

“It is too late,” said the officer. “I will trouble you to come to the station-house with me to make known the charge.”

Ben did so, and matters took their course. After some delay he received back the savings-bank book with the ring and about ten dollars. George Grayson was sentenced to a term of imprisonment.

Ben pitied him and would gladly have spared him this, but the law was inexorable.