Mr. Abrahams was obsessed with a desire to see England, entirely for its own sake.  England, also thinking entirely of itself, was obsessed with a desire not to see Mr. Abrahams.  Mr. Abrahams came to my office, said nice things about me to my face and begged me to let him go.  I said nice things to him, and told him I would if I could, but I couldn’t.  He took this to mean I could if I would, but I wouldn’t.  He offered me cash down; a cheque for five pounds sterling, or a note for a hundred francs; I could have it which way I liked.  We should call it for appearance’ sake a gift to His Majesty’s Government for the better prosecution of the War.

I thanked him cordially on behalf of His Majesty’s Government, but regretted that I was the victim of circumstances over which I had no control.  Refusing to believe there could be any circumstances which could stand up against an officer of my power, position and force, he produced a note for a hundred francs and put it on my table.  He then withdrew, meaning (I gathered) to return to the attack as soon as the money had sunk in.  From this point on, Mr. Abrahams disappears from the story.  It is not the first or only story, as the police will tell you, from which Mr. Abrahams has disappeared.

My report to His Majesty’s Government did not omit a full mention of the matter of the five pounds or hundred francs offered.  It begged for instructions as to the disposal of the booty which, it stated, lay in my “Suspense” basket.  No instructions could be got, though frequent messages, saying, “May we now have an answer, please?” were sent.  Weeks passed, and every morning I was tempted by the sight of that note for a hundred francs lying in the basket.  My moral gradually declined.  So did the rate of exchange.  So did the barometer.

There came a day, the weather being such that any man who could sin would sin, when I had in my pocket a cheque made out for five pounds which I was about to cash for lack of ready francs, and when the rate of exchange had got as low as nineteen francs to the pound, which would mean (I rely entirely on the evidence of the bank man) ninety-five francs for my five pounds.  Charles, I fell.  Explaining to myself that Mr. Abrahams had clearly intimated that his gift to the Government was alternatively a cheque for five pounds or a note for a hundred francs, I put my cheque into the “Suspense” basket and pocketed the note, thus making five francs profit.

More weeks passed; no instructions came, and every day I was tempted by the sight of that cheque.  One bright summer morning, when any man who had any goodness in him could not help being good, and when the rate of exchange had risen to twenty-one, I came to my office full of noble intentions and hundred franc notes of my own.  I may mention in passing that it takes very little money to fill me up.  I had just cashed a cheque of my own at the rate of a hundred-and-five francs to the five pounds, and