seem half off your chump this morning.”  Then when I had it in my hand—­I don’t know how it came, but it just flashed across me that if I put the ‘ty’ and the nought there would be the money to get her away.  It just came and went—­I never thought of it again.  Then Davis went out to his luncheon, and I don’t really remember what I did till I’d pushed the cheque through to the cashier under the rail.  I remember his saying “Gold or notes?” Then I suppose I knew what I’d done.  Anyway, when I got outside I wanted to chuck myself under a bus; I wanted to throw the money away; but it seemed I was in for it, so I thought at any rate I’d save her.  Of course the tickets I took for the passage and the little I gave her’s been wasted, and all, except what I was obliged to spend myself, I’ve restored.  I keep thinking over and over however it was I came to do it, and how I can’t have it all again to do differently!

     Falder is silent, twisting his hands before him.

Frome.  How far is it from your office to the bank?

Falder.  Not more than fifty yards, sir.

Frome.  From the time Davis went out to lunch to the time you cashed the cheque, how long do you say it must have been?

Falder.  It couldn’t have been four minutes, sir, because I ran all the way.

Frome.  During those four minutes you say you remember nothing?

Falder.  No, sir; only that I ran.

Frome.  Not even adding the ‘ty’ and the nought?’

Falder.  No, sir.  I don’t really.

     Frome sits down, and Cleaver rises.

Cleaver.  But you remember running, do you?

Falder.  I was all out of breath when I got to the bank.

Cleaver.  And you don’t remember altering the cheque?

Falder. [Faintly] No, sir.

Cleaver.  Divested of the romantic glamour which my friend is casting over the case, is this anything but an ordinary forgery?  Come.

Falder.  I was half frantic all that morning, sir.

Cleaver.  Now, now!  You don’t deny that the ‘ty’ and the nought were so like the rest of the handwriting as to thoroughly deceive the cashier?

Falder.  It was an accident.

Cleaver. [Cheerfully] Queer sort of accident, wasn’t it?  On which day did you alter the counterfoil?

Falder. [Hanging his head] On the Wednesday morning.

Cleaver.  Was that an accident too?

Falder. [Faintly] No.

Cleaver.  To do that you had to watch your opportunity, I suppose?

Falder. [Almost inaudibly] Yes.

Cleaver.  You don’t suggest that you were suffering under great excitement when you did that?

Falder.  I was haunted.