s presence, no
doubt; and young Swinton may have added the extra words and figures. An
amazingly clever forgery! You say he had all the money?"

"No, not all--but nearly all of it has been withdrawn."

"Then, he has robbed us of seven thousand dollars?"

"If the checks are forgeries, yes. I hope not, I sincerely hope not. If
you doubted the first check--"

"The scoundrel! Go at once to Herresford. The old man must refund and
make good the loss, or we are in a predicament."

"I'll go immediately. I suppose it is the young man's work? It is
impossible to conceive that Mrs. Swinton--his own daughter--"

"Don't be a fool. Go to Herresford."

CHAPTER IX

HERRESFORD IS TOLD

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.

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 dress