'Wait a minute. Don't let's be in a hurry. The forgers by themselves could do nothing. They wanted some one in the office, some one always about the place: some one who could get at the safe: some one who could get from the office what the man outside wanted: some one to intercept the letters----'

'Well?'

'That person, Sir Samuel, I have found.'

Sir Samuel sat up. 'You have found him?'

'I have. And here's my difficulty. Because, Sir Samuel, he is your brother's new partner; and unless we lodge him in the Jug before many days, he will be your own brother-in-law.'

Sir Samuel changed colour, and got up to see that the door behind the screen was shut. 'This is a very serious thing to say, Checkley--a very serious thing.'

'Oh! I will make it quite plain. First, as to opportunities; next, as to motives; third, as to facts. For opportunities, then. Latterly, for the last six months, he's been working in the Chief's office nearly all day long. There he sat, at the little table between the windows, just half turned round to catch the light, with the open safe within easy reach of his hand when the Chief wasn't looking; or when--because he doesn't always touch the bell--Mr. Dering would bring papers into my office and leave him alone--ah! alone--with the safe. That's for opportunities. Now for motives. He's been engaged for two years, I understand, to a young lady----'

'To Lady Dering's sister.'

'Just so, sir. And I believe, until the unexpected luck of his partnership, against the wish of Lady Dering's family.'

'That is true.'

'He had two hundred a year. And he had nothing else--no prospects and no chances. So I think you will acknowledge that there's sufficient motive here for him to try anything.'

'Well, if poverty is a motive--no doubt he had one.'

'Poverty was the motive. You couldn't have a stronger motive. There isn't in the whole world a stronger motive--though, I admit, some young men who are pore may keep honest. I did. Mr. Austin, I take it, is one of those that don't keep honest. That's for motive. Now for facts. Mr.

Austin had nothing to do with the forgery eight years ago; he was only an articled clerk beginning. But he knew young Arundel who did the thing, remember. That cheque was written by young Arundel, who ran away.

The letters of this year are written by _the same hand_--by your brother-in-law, Sir Samuel--by Mr. Athelstan Arundel.'

'But he is gone: he has disappeared: n.o.body knows where he is.'

Checkley laughed. This was a moment of triumph. 'He is back again, Sir Samuel. I have seen him.'

'Where? Athelstan back again?'

'I will tell you. All these forgeries use the name of Edmund Gray, of 22 South Square, Gray's Inn. I have told you that before. When the thing is discovered, young Austin goes off and makes himself mighty busy tracking and following up, hunting down, doing detective work, and so on. Oh! who so busy as he? Found out that Edmund Gray was an old man, if you please; and this morning again, so cheerful and lively that it does your heart good--going to settle it all in a day or two. Yah! As if I couldn't see through his cunning! Why! I'm seventy-five years old. I'm up to every kind of dodge: what will happen next, unless you cut in? First, we shall hear that Mr. Edmund Gray has gone abroad, or has vanished, or something. When he's quite out of the way, we shall find out that he did the whole thing--him and n.o.body else. And then if there's no more money to be made by keeping the papers, they will all come back--from Edmund Gray, penitent--oh! I know.'

'But about Athelstan Arundel?'

'To be sure. I'm an old man, Sir Samuel, and I talk too much. Well, I go most nights to a parlour in Holborn--the _Salutation_ it is--where the company is select and the liquor good. There I saw him a week ago. He was brought in by one of the company. I knew him at once, and he wasn't in hiding. Used his own name. But he didn't see me. No--no, thinks I. We won't give this away. I hid my face behind a newspaper. He's been staying in Camberwell for the last eight years, I believe, all the time.'

'In Camberwell? Why in Camberwell?'

'In bad company--as I was given to understand. In Prodigal Son's company.'

'You don't mean this, Checkley? Is it really true?'

'It is perfectly true, Sir Samuel. I have seen him. He was dressed like a Prince--velvet jacket and crimson tie and white waistcoat. And he walked in with just his old insolence--nose up, head back, looking round as if we were not fit to be in the same room with him--just as he used to do.'

'By Jove!' said Sir Samuel, thrusting his hands into his pockets. 'What will Hilda say--I mean--Lady Dering, say, when she hears it?'

'There is more to hear, Sir Samuel--not much more. But it drives the nail home--a nail in their coffin, I hope and trust.'

'Go on. Let me hear all.'

'You've caught on, have you, to all I said about Edmund Gray of 22 South Square--him as was mentioned eight years ago--and about the handwriting being the same now as then?'

'Yes.'

'So that the same hand which forged the cheque then has forged the letters now?'

'Quite so.'

'I said then--and I say now--that young Arundel forged that cheque. I say now that he is the forger of these letters, and that Austin stood in with him and was his confidant. What do you think of this? To-night, after office, I thought I would go and have a look at 22 South Square.

So I walked up and down on the other side: my eyes are pretty good still: I thought I should perhaps see something presently over the way.

So I did. Who should come into the Square, marching along as if the old place, Benchers and all, belonged to him, but Mr. Athelstan Arundel! He pulled up at No. 22--No. 22, mind--Edmund Gray's number--he walked up-stairs--I heard him--to the second floor--Edmund Gray's floor.'

'Good Lord!' cried Sir Samuel. 'This is suspicious with a vengeance.'

'Oh! but I haven't done. I stayed where I was, wondering if he would come down, and whether I should meet him and ask him what he was doing with Edmund Gray. And then--I was richly rewarded--oh! rich was the reward, for who should come into the Square but young Austin himself!

He, too, went up the stairs of No. 22. And there I left them both, and came away--came to put the case into your hands.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'I want you to advise me. What shall I do? There is my case complete--I don't suppose you want a more complete case--for any Court of Justice.'

'Well, as for that, I'm not a lawyer. As a City man, if a clerk of mine was in such a suspicious position as young Austin, I should ask him for full explanations. You've got no actual proof, you see, that he, or Athelstan either, did the thing.'

'I beg your pardon, Sir Samuel. I'm only a clerk, and you're a great City Knight, but I don't know what better proof you want. Don't I see young Austin pretending not to know who Edmund Gray is, and then going up to his Chambers to meet his pal Athelstan Arundel? Ain't that proof?

Don't I tell you that the same hand had been at work in both forgeries?

Isn't that hand young Arundel's?'

'Checkley, I see that you are greatly interested in this matter----'

'I would give--ah!--twenty pounds--yes, twenty hard-earned pounds to see those two young gentlemen in the Dock--where they shall be--where they shall be,' he repeated. His trembling voice, cracked with old age, seemed unequally wedded to the malignity of his words and his expression.

'One of these young gentlemen,' said Sir Samuel, 'is my brother-in-law.

The other, unless this business prevents, will be my brother-in-law before many days. You will, therefore, understand that my endeavours will be to keep them both out of the Dock.'

'The job will be only half complete without; but still--to see young Austin drove out of the place--with disgrace--same as the other one was--why, that should be something--something to think about afterwards.'

Checkley went away. Sir Samuel sat thinking what was best to be done.

Like everybody else, he quite believed in Athelstan's guilt. Granted that fact, he saw clearly that there was another very black-looking case against him and against George Austin. What should be done? He would consult his wife. He did so.

'What will Elsie say?' she asked. 'Yet, sooner or later, she must be told. I suppose that will be my task. But she can wait a little. Do you go to-morrow morning to Mr. Dering and tell him. The sooner he knows the better.'

You now understand why Mr. Checkley was so joyous when he arrived at the _Salutation_, and why he proposed that toast.