“After all, I am a fool for once in my life.  If the certificates are in no box which I have yet examined, that does not imply they may not be in some one which I have not had time to search.  Farquhar would stay so late last night!  And, even if they are in none of the boxes here, that does not prove——­” He gave the bell a jerking ring, and it was yet sounding when Mr. Smith, the insurance clerk, entered.

The manager of the Insurance Company had been considerably nettled at the tone of Mr. Bradshaw’s letter; and had instructed the clerk to assume some dignity at first in vindicating (as it was well in his power to do) the character of the proceedings of the Company, but at the same time he was not to go too far, for the firm of Bradshaw & Co. was daily looming larger in the commercial world, and if any reasonable explanation could be given it was to be received, and bygones be bygones.

“Sit down, sir!” said Mr. Bradshaw.

“You are aware, sir, I presume, that I come on the part of Mr. Dennison, the manager of the Star Insurance Company, to reply in person to a letter of yours, of the 29th, addressed to him?”

Mr. Bradshaw bowed.  “A very careless piece of business,” he said stiffly.  “Mr. Dennison does not think you will consider it as such when you have seen the deed of transfer, which I am commissioned to show you.”

Mr. Bradshaw took the deed with a steady hand.  He wiped his spectacles quietly, without delay, and without hurry, and adjusted them on his nose.  It is possible that he was rather long in looking over the document—­at least, the clerk had just begun to wonder if he was reading through the whole of it, instead of merely looking at the signature, when Mr. Bradshaw said:  “It is possible that it may be——­of course, you will allow me to take this paper to Mr. Benson, to—­to inquire if this be his signature?”

“There can be no doubt of it, I think, sir,” said the clerk, calmly smiling, for he knew Mr. Benson’s signature well.

“I don’t know, sir—­I don’t know.” (He was speaking as if the pronunciation of every word required a separate effort of will, like a man who has received a slight paralytic stroke.)

“You have heard, sir, of such a thing as forgery—­forgery, sir?” said he, repeating the last word very distinctly; for he feared that the first time he had said it, it was rather slurred over.

“Oh, sir! there is no room for imagining such a thing, I assure you.  In our affairs we become aware of curious forgetfulness on the part of those who are not of business habits.”

“Still I should like to show it Mr. Benson, to prove to him his forgetfulness, you know.  I believe, on my soul, it is some of his careless forgetfulness—­I do, sir,” said he.  Now he spoke very quickly.  “It must have been.  Allow me to convince myself.  You shall have it back to-night, or the first thing in the morning.”

The clerk did not quite like to relinquish the deed, nor yet did he like to refuse Mr. Bradshaw.  If that very uncomfortable idea of forgery should have any foundation in truth—­and he had given up the writing!  There were a thousand chances to one against its being anything but a stupid blunder; the risk was more imminent of offending one of the directors.