see, sir,
was taken only last month; at breakfast, too, as he was chipping his
third egg."

Beaumont-Greene said loftily, "Blow your wife's step-father and his
third egg. Here's the letter."

He flung down the letter and marched out of the shop. The tradesman
looked at him, shaking his head. "He'll never come back," he muttered.
"I know his sort too well." Then, business happening to be slack, he
re-read the letter before putting it away. Then he whistled softly and
read it for the third time, frowning and biting his lips. The
"Beaumont-Greene" in the signature and on the envelope did not look to
be written by the same hand.

"There's something fishy here," muttered the tradesman. "I must show
this to Amelia."

It was his habit to consult his wife in emergencies. The chief cutter
and two assistants said that Amelia was the power behind the throne.
Amelia read the letter, listened to what her husband had to say, stared
hard at the envelope, and delivered herself--

"The hand that wrote the envelope never wrote the letter, that's
plain--to me. Now, William, you've got me and the children to think
of. This may mean the loss of our business, and worse too. You put on
your hat and go straight to the Manor. Mr. Warde's a gentleman, and I
don't think he'll let me and the children suffer for your foolishness.
Don't you wait another minute."

Nor did he.

After prayers that night, Warde asked Beaumont-Greene to come to his
study. Beaumont-Greene obeyed, smiling blandly. Within three weeks he
was leaving; doubtless Warde wanted to say something civil. The big
fellow was feeling quite himself. He had paid Scaife and Lovell, not
without a little pardonable braggadocio.

"You fellows have put me to some inconvenience," he said. "I make it a
rule not to run things fine, but after all thirty quid is no great sum.
Here you are."

"We don't want to drive you into the workhouse," said Scaife. "Thanks.
Give you your revenge any time. I dare say between now and the end of
the term you'll have most of it back."

Warde asked Beaumont-Greene to sit down in a particular chair, which
faced the light from a large lamp. Then he took up an envelope.
Suddenly cold chills trickled down Beaumont-Greene's spine. He
recognized the envelope. That scoundrel had betrayed him. Not for a
moment, however, did he suppose that the forgery had been detected.

"On the strength of this letter," said Warde, gravely, "you bor