Late as he had worked the night before, nervous and shaky as he felt after the sleepless hours of planning their new life, Carlton was the first at the office in the morning.  His hand trembled as he ran through the huge batch of mail already left at the first delivery.  He paused as he came to one letter with the name “W.  J. Reynolds co.” on it.

Here was a check in payment of a small bill, he knew.  It was from a firm which habitually kept hundreds of thousands on deposit at the Gorham Bank.  It fitted the case admirably.  He slit open the letter.  There, neatly folded, was the check: 

No. 15711.  Dec. 27, 191—.

THE GORHAM NATIONAL BANK

Pay to the order of.......  Green & Co.......

Twenty-five 00/100 ..................Dollars

$25.00/100

W. J. Reynolds Co., per Chas. M. Brown, Treas.

It flashed over him in a moment what to do.  Twenty-five thousand would just about cover his shortage.  The Reynolds firm was a big one, doing big transactions.  He slipped the check into his pocket.  The check might have been stolen in the mail.  Why not?

The journey uptown was most excruciatingly long, in spite of the fact that he had met no one he knew either at the office or outside.  At last he arrived home, to find Constance waiting anxiously.

“Did you get a check?” she asked, hardly waiting for his reply.  “Let me see it.  Give it to me.”

The coolness with which she went about it amazed him.  “It has the amount punched on it with a check punch,” she observed as she ran her quick eye over it while he explained his plan.  “We’ll have to fill up some of those holes made by the punch.”

“I know the kind they used,” he answered.  “I’ll get one and a desk check from the Gorham.  You do the artistic work, my dear.  My knowledge of check punches, watermarks, and paper will furnish the rest.  I’ll be back directly.  Don’t forget to call up the office a little before the time I usually arrive there and tell them I am ill.”

With her light-fingered touch she worked feverishly, partly with the liquid ink eradicator, but mostly with the spun-glass eraser.  First she rubbed out the cents after the written figure “Twenty-five.”  Carefully with a blunt instrument she smoothed down the roughened surface of the paper so that the ink would not run in the fibers and blot.  Over and over she practised writing the “Thousand” in a hand like that on the check.  She already had the capital “T” in “Twenty” as a guide.  During the night in practising she had found that in raising checks only seven capital letters were used—­O in one, T in two, three, ten, and thousand, F in four and five, S in six and seven, E in eight, N in nine and H in hundred.

At last even her practice satisfied her.  Then with a coolness born only of desperation she wrote in the words, “Thousand 00/100.”  When she had done it she stopped to wonder at herself.  She was amazed and perhaps a little frightened at how readily she adapted herself to the crime of forgery.  She did not know that it was one of the few crimes in which women had proved themselves most proficient, though she felt her own proficiency and native ability for copying.