Herresford was in a more than usually unpleasant frame of mind when the manager of Ormsby’s bank came to bring the news that someone had robbed him of seven thousand dollars. The old man was no longer in the usual bedroom, lying on his ebony bed. A sudden impulse had seized him to be moved to another portion of the house, where he could see a fresh section of the grounds. He needed a change, and he wanted to spy out new defects. A sudden removal to a room in the front of the house revealed the fact that everything had been neglected except the portion of the garden which had formerly come within range of his field-glasses.

Rage accordingly! Stormy interviews, with violent threats of instant dismissal of the whole outdoor staff, petulant abuse of people who had nothing whatever to do with the neglect of the park, and a display of energy and mental activity surprising in one of such advanced age. He was in the middle of an altercation with his steward—who resigned his position about once a month—when the bank-manager was announced. 94

At the mention of the word bank, the old man lost all interest in things out of doors.

“Send him up—send him up—don’t keep him waiting,” he cried. “Time is money. He may have come to tell me that I must sell something. Nothing is more important in life than money. See that there are pens and paper, in case I have to sign anything.”

The quiet, urbane bank-manager had never before interviewed this terrible personage. He had heard strange stories of an abusive old man in his dotage, who contrived to make it very unpleasant for any representative of the bank sent up to his bedroom to get documents signed, and was therefore surprised to see an alert, hawk-eyed old gentleman, with a skull-cap and a dressing-jacket, sitting up in bed in a small turret bedroom, smiling, and almost genial.

“Will you take a seat, Mr.——? I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“Barnby, sir.”

“Take a seat, Mr. Barnby. You’ve come to see me about money?”

“Yes, sir, an unpleasant matter, I fear.”

“Depression in the market, eh? Things still falling? Ah! It’s the war, the war—curse it! Tell me more—tell me quickly!”

“It’s a family matter, sir.”

“Family matter! What has my family to do with 95 my money—ha! I guess why you’ve come. Yes—yes—something to do with my grandson?”

“Just so, sir.”

“What is it now? Debts, overdrawn accounts—what—what?”

“To put the matter in a nutshell, sir, two checks were presented some weeks ago, signed by you, one for two thousand dollars, the other for five thousand dollars—which—”

“What!—when? I haven’t signed a check for any thousand dollars for months.” This was true, as the miser’s creditors knew to their cost. It was next to impossible to collect money from him.

“One check was made out to your daughter, Mary Swinton, and presented at the bank, and cashed by your grandson, Mr. Richard Swinton.”

“Yes, for five dollars.”

“Five thousand dollars, sir.”

“But I tell you I never drew it.”

“I’m very sorry to hear it, sir. The first check for two thousand dollars looks very much as though it had been altered, having been originally for two dollars; and, in the second check, made out to Mr. Swinton, the same kind of alteration occurs—five seems to have been changed into five thousand.”

“What!” screamed the old man, raising himself on one hand and extending the other. “Let me look! Let me look!” 96

His bony claw was outstretched, every finger quivering with excitement.

“These are the checks, sir. That is your correct signature, I believe?”

“I never signed them—I never signed them. Take them away. They’re not mine.”

“Pardon me, sir, the signature is undoubtedly yours. Do you remember signing any check for two dollars or for five?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I gave her two—yes—and I gave her five—for the boy.”

“Just so, sir. Well, some fraudulent person has altered the figures. You’ll see, if you look through this magnifying glass, holding the glass some distance from the eyes, that the ink of the major part of the check is different. When Mr. Swinton presented these checks, the ink was new, and the alterations were not apparent. But, in the course of time, the ink of the forgery has darkened.”

“The scoundrel!” cried the old man in guttural rage. “I always said he’d come to a bad end—but I never believed it—never believed it. Let me look again. The rascal! The scoundrel! Do you mean to say he has robbed your bank of seven thousand dollars?”

“No, he has robbed you, sir,” replied the bank-manager, with alacrity, for his instructions were to drive home, at all costs, the fact that it was Herresford 97 who had been swindled, and not the bank. They knew the man they were dealing with, and had no fancy for fighting on technical points. Unfortunately for the bank, Mr. Barnby was a little too eager.

“My money? Why should I lose money?” snapped the miser, turning around upon him. “I didn’t alter the checks. You ought to keep your eyes open. If swindlers choose to tamper with my paper, what’s it to do with me? It’s your risk, your business, your loss, not mine.”

“No, sir, surely not. A member of your own family—”

“A member of my own family be hanged, sir. He’s no child of mine. He’s the son of that canting sky-pilot, that parson of the slums.”

“But he is your grandson, sir. I take it that you would not desire a scandal, a public exposure.”

“A scandal! What’s a scandal to me? Am I to pay seven thousand dollars for the privilege of being robbed, sir? No, sir. I entrusted you with the care of my money. You ought to take proper precautions, and safeguard me against swindlers and forgers.”

“But he is your heir.”

“Nothing of the sort. He is not my heir.”

“But some day—”

“Some day! What has some day got to do with 98 you, eh, sir? Are you in my confidence, sir? Have I ever told you that I intend to leave my money to my grandson?”

“No, sir, of course not. I beg your pardon if I presumed—”

“You do presume, sir.”

Poor Mr. Barnby was in a perspiration. The keen, little old man was besting and flurrying him; he was no match for this irascible invalid.

“Then, sir, I take it, that you wish us to prosecute your grandson—who is at the war.”

“Prosecute whom you like, sir, but don’t come here pretending that you’re not responsible for the acts of fraudulent swindlers.”

“It has been fought out over and over again, and I believe never settled satisfactorily.”

“Then, it is settled this time—unless you wish me to withdraw my account from your bank instantly—I’m the best customer you’ve got. Prosecute, sir—prosecute. Have him home from the war, and fling him into jail.”

“Of course, sir, we have no actual evidence that the forgery was made by the young man, although he—er—presented the checks, and pursued an unusual course. He took the amount in notes. The second amount he took partly in notes, and paid the rest into his account, which has since gone down to a few dollars. Of course, it may have been done by—er—someone 99 else. It is a difficult matter to decide who—er—that is who actually made the alterations. We have not yet brought the matter to the notice of Mrs. Swinton. She may be able to explain—”

“What! Do you mean to insinuate that my daughter—my daughter—sir, would be capable of a low, cunning forgery?”

“I insinuate nothing, sir. But mothers will sometimes condone the faults of their sons, and—er—it would be difficult, if she were to say—”

“Let me tell you that the two checks were signed by me for two and for five dollars, and given into the hands of my daughter. If she was fool enough to let them pass into the clutches of her rascally son, she must take the consequences, and remember, sir, you’ll get no money out of me. I’ll have my seven thousand, every penny.”

Mr. Barnby subsided. The situation was clear enough. Herresford repudiated the checks, and it was for Mr. Ormsby to decide what action should be taken, and against whom. Mr. Barnby’s personal opinion of the forgery was that it might just as well have been done by Mrs. Swinton as by her son. In fact, after a close perusal of the second check, to which he had brought some knowledge of handwriting, he was more inclined to regard her as the culprit. He knew Dick slightly, and certainly could not credit 100 him with the act of a fool. As a parting shot, he asked:

“Just for the sake of argument, sir, I presume that you would not have us prosecute if it were your daughter; whereas, if it were your grandson—?”

“Women don’t forge, sir,” snarled the old man, “they’re too afraid of paper money. I don’t want to hear anything more about the matter. What I do want is a full statement of my balance. And, if there’s a dollar short, I’ll sue you, sir—yes, sue you!—for neglect of your trust.”

“I quite understand, sir. I’ll put your views before Mr. Ormsby. There is no need for hurry. The young man is at the war.”

“Have him home, sir, have him home,” snapped the old man, “and as for his mother—well, it serves her right—serves her right. Never would take my advice. Obstinate as a mule. But I’ll pay her out yet, ha, ha! Forgery! Scandal, ha, ha! All her fine friends will stand by her now, of course. Unnatural father, eh? Unnatural, because he knew what he was dealing with. I knew my own flesh and blood. Like her mother—couldn’t hold a penny. Yet, married a beggar—and ruined him, too—ha, ha! Goes to church three times on Sundays, and casts up her eyes to heaven, pleading for sinners, and gambles all night at bridge. Now, she’ll have the joy of seeing her son in the dock—her dear son who 101 was always dealt hardly with by his grandfather, because his grandfather knew the breed. No sense of the value of money. No brains! I’ll have my revenge now. Yes, yes. What are you staring at, sir? Get out of the room. How dare you insult my daughter?”

“I said nothing, sir.”

“Then, what are you waiting for? Get back to your bank, and look after my money.”