Walter. [After consideration] My y’s curl back a little; this doesn’t.

James. [As Cokeson re-enters from Falder’s room] We must ask him.  Just come here and carry your mind back a bit, Cokeson.  D’you remember cashing a cheque for Mr. Walter last Friday week—­the day he went to Trenton?

Cokeson.  Ye-es.  Nine pounds.

James.  Look at this. [Handing him the cheque.]

Cokeson.  No!  Nine pounds.  My lunch was just coming in; and of course I like it hot; I gave the cheque to Davis to run round to the bank.  He brought it back, all gold—­you remember, Mr. Walter, you wanted some silver to pay your cab. [With a certain contemptuous compassion] Here, let me see.  You’ve got the wrong cheque.

     He takes cheque-book and pass-book from Walter.

Walter.  Afraid not.

Cokeson. [Having seen for himself] It’s funny.

James.  You gave it to Davis, and Davis sailed for Australia on
Monday.  Looks black, Cokeson.

Cokeson. [Puzzled and upset] why this’d be a felony!  No, no! there’s some mistake.

James.  I hope so.

Cokeson.  There’s never been anything of that sort in the office the twenty-nine years I’ve been here.

James. [Looking at cheque and counterfoil] This is a very clever bit of work; a warning to you not to leave space after your figures, Walter.

Walter. [Vexed] Yes, I know—­I was in such a tearing hurry that afternoon.

Cokeson. [Suddenly] This has upset me.

James.  The counterfoil altered too—­very deliberate piece of swindling.  What was Davis’s ship?

Walter.  ‘City of Rangoon’.

James.  We ought to wire and have him arrested at Naples; he can’t be there yet.

Cokeson.  His poor young wife.  I liked the young man.  Dear, oh dear!  In this office!

Walter.  Shall I go to the bank and ask the cashier?

James. [Grimly] Bring him round here.  And ring up Scotland Yard.

Walter.  Really?

     He goes out through the outer office.  James paces the room.  He
     stops and looks at Cokeson, who is disconsolately rubbing the
     knees of his trousers.

James.  Well, Cokeson!  There’s something in character, isn’t there?

Cokeson. [Looking at him over his spectacles] I don’t quite take you, sir.

James.  Your story, would sound d——­d thin to any one who didn’t know you.

Cokeson.  Ye-es! [He laughs.  Then with a sudden gravity] I’m sorry for that young man.  I feel it as if it was my own son, Mr. James.

James.  A nasty business!

Cokeson.  It unsettles you.  All goes on regular, and then a thing like this happens.  Shan’t relish my lunch to-day.