“Recorded it?” inquired Mr. Belcher in an alarm which he did not attempt to disguise.

“You don’t mean to tell me that this paper has been in existence more than six years, and has not been recorded?”

“I didn’t know it was necessary.”

Mr. Cavendish tossed the paper back to the owner of it with a sniff of contempt.

“It isn’t worth that!” said he, snapping his fingers.

Then he drew out the check from his drawer, and handed it back to Mr. Belcher.

“There’s no case, and I don’t want your money,” said he.

“But there is a case!” said Mr. Belcher, fiercely, scared out of his fear.  “Do you suppose I am going to be cheated out of my rights without a fight?  I’m no chicken, and I’ll spend half a million before I’ll give up my rights.”

Mr. Cavendish laughed.

“Well, go to Washington,” said he, “and if you don’t find that Balfour or somebody else has been there before you, I shall be mistaken.  Balfour isn’t very much of a chicken, and he knows enough to know that the first assignment recorded there holds.  Why has he not been down upon you before this?  Simply because he saw that you were making money for his client, and he preferred to take it all out of you in a single slice.  I know Balfour, and he carries a long head.  Chicken!”

Mr. Belcher was in distress.  The whole game was as obvious and real to him as if he had assured himself of its truth.  He staggered to his feet.  He felt the hand of ruin upon him.  He believed that while he had been perfecting his crime he had been quietly overreached.  He lost his self-command, and gave himself up to profanity and bluster, at which Mr. Cavendish laughed.

“There’s no use in that sort of thing, General,” said he.  “Go to Washington.  Ascertain for yourself about it, and if you find it as I predict, make the best of it.  You can make a compromise of some sort.  Do the best you can.”

There was one thing that Mr. Cavendish had noticed.  Mr. Belcher had made no response to him when he told him that if the paper was a dirty one he did not wish to know it.  He had made up his mind that there was mischief in it, somewhere.  Either the consideration had never been paid, or the signatures were fraudulent, or perhaps the paper had been executed when the assignor was demonstrably of unsound mind.  Somewhere, he was perfectly sure, there was fraud.

“General,” said he, “I have my doubts about this paper.  I’m not going to tell you why.  I understand that there is one witness living who will swear to all these signatures.”

“There is.”

“Is he a credible witness?  Has he ever committed a crime?  Can anything wrong be proved against him?”

“The witness,” responded Mr. Belcher, “is my man Phipps; and a more faithful fellow never lived.  I’ve known him for years, and he was never in an ugly scrape in his life.”

“Well, if you find that no one is before you on the records, come back; and when you come you may as well multiply that check by ten.  When I undertake a thing of this kind, I like to provide myself against all contingencies.”