LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2372, 10 November 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

CURIOUS CIRCUMSTANTIAL PUZZLE, a lawyer’s story. (“ London Society.”) I, early one forenoon, received a visit from my best client, Mr John Buller. Mr John Buffer was a gentleman who, still hardly past the prime of life, had made a considerable fortune as a builder and contractor. Altogether there must have been something out of the common about him, for he had become a wealthy man, notwithstanding that he was not what is commonly called a ‘' good man of business.” Still, he very rarely indeed—at least to my knowledge—found himself seriously deceived. 1 need hardly say that, like all men of snch a temper, to be found out in deceiving him in the smallest trifle was to lose his confidence irrevocably and for ever.

On the whole, I incline to ascribe his success in life less to courage and over confidence than to a habit of always doing his work a little better than his contract required. And that Is the chief reason why I set out by speaking of him as a gentleman. For he had risen from the lower rounds oi the ladder, and, so far as he might be called a diamond, was a decidedly polished one. I should add that he had never been married, was without known relations, and lived alone in thoroughly respectable comfort, without pretence of any kind. ‘Mr Standlsh,’ ha began. In the broad north-country speech, ‘ something mortal queer has happened, that I can’t make bead or tail o’. It’s not the money’s worth, though fifty pound is fifty pound; but look here!’

‘ Yonr cheque for fifty pounds, cashed by the Bedport branch of the County Bank, and returned to you in the regular course. Well, what’s wrong V ‘ Do you see anything about that cheque, Mr Standish—anythieg out of the way ?’ ‘ No. It’s drawn to yourself or order by yourself; endorsed by yon; and nothing wrong about date or anything else that I can see.’

' And if yon’d been a clerk at Bedport you’d have cashed that over the counter without any bines ?’ ‘ Of course I should, as I suppose from this you have on account there.’ ‘And that’s just what was done then. And all the same, that cheque was no more filled up, nor signed, nor backed by me than it was by you.' ‘ You mean to say its forged 7 By Jove, that’s a serious thing. Do you mean to say that some rascal has been clever enough to fill up and sign a whole cheque in your handwritin, even down to the least turn of the smallest stroke of the pen ? I’d have sworn to this being your own handwriting before a jury.’ ‘ Ay, Mr Blandish, and so would I, if I didn’t know. But Ido know ; and that’s no more my cheque than it’s yours. And I’m hanged if I know what to do.’ ‘ You’ve seen the bank manager here 7 What does he say V

, No, I havn’t. I havn’fc seen a soul; and what’s more, 1 don’t mean to unless I’m driven. And it’s to get out of being driven I’m come to you. This cheque isn’t the first of ’em, Mr Standish—no, nor the second, nor yet the third. Thera’s foar cheques of fifty pounds a piece ; and I’ve not drawn one.’ * And you havn’t found it out till now,’

* I’ve found out nothing. Mr Standish, mark that—not one word. Nothing’s found out till it’s proved. I wont to know what I can do,’

The premature question was the only sign of precipitancy or impatience I had ever seen in John Buller. I began to see that he was disturbed by something beyond the loss to himself or the Bank of two hundred pounds, or by the always detestable necessity of being mixed up in what looked like a criminal matter.

* I’m putting up the new row of villas on the esplanade at Bedport,’ said he ; it's a biggish job in a small way, and it’s very much on my own account; and what with

he hand s, and one thing and another, there 8 a goodish lot of cash floating about from week to week—going out, anyhow, though i f course none to speak of coming in. So, to save a lot of bother, I’ve had an account with tha branch at Redport, You don’t know the place, I believe ?’ * I’ve never been over there yet; but I must run over some day, when I can get a holiday. Well ?’ ‘lt’s been main through me that tho place has got on well enough to make it worth the Bank’s while to have a branch there ; and if I was to draw for five times what’s to my credit, I don’t suppose they’d make any bother, looking to my credit at the main branch here. So this game might go on any time before I hoard I’d overdrawn. As far as I’m concerned, a cheque on the branch at Kedporks much tho same as one on the Bank hero.’

* Well?’ . * You see, though that job's middling big, I’ve got too many bigger on hand to bother In person with Redport. It’s two months since I’ve been near the place, and may be It'll be another month before I can get over there again. So I’ve got a clerk of the works in ray office In one of the villas, and he comes over to me here every Friday to report and take any new orders, and I give him cheques on the Redport branch for what’s wanted—he brings me his accounts and vouchers, of coarse, and I settle that way whatever has so be paid running. And some of the cheques I receive I send over by him to be paid in there. ’ ’Excuse me,’ said I, ‘but doesn’t this seem rather a loose and rough way of doing things? In the first place, I don’t see why you should make any payments through the Redport branch at all.’ * I’ll tell you why I do it, and how it concerns these—forgeries too. I want to keep as ranch cash knocking about In Redport as I can, and to keep as little from going out; that’s the way to push a new place on. My clerk comes to me at four o’clock every Friday afternoon. First of all, I give him a cheque for the men’s week’s wages. Then we go through the accounts, and for any that I want to settle off-hand I either draw separate cheques in favor of the different parties, or else I give him another lamp cheque for him to cash and pay out in gold. In fact, there’s all sorts of things to be paid In all sorts of ways. If the account seems running low, it’s easier for me to pay in-a few cheques than to bother the Bank here. Anyhow, it eaves mo a bushel of bother, and don’t oblige me to give more than an honr a week to Redport—and oven an hour’s too much at times.’

‘Just tell me precisely everything that happens, please. We’re rather vague where we are. He comes to you at four every Friday, and yon give him all these cheques—whatever he asks for—and then he goes back at once to Redport by rail?’ John Buffer glanced at me sharply. By these words, ‘whatever ho asks for,’ I had trodden upon what is always the most sensitive of an over-trustful man’s corns; I had hinted at tho want of worldly prudence which such a man, far more than any other, hates to be suspected of lacking. * I’m not quite a born fool,’ said he ; ‘we go through the accounts, and he stays for supper and a bed. By breakfast time next morning I’ve found a half-hour to examine the accounts and to write the chepuea, I give him the whole lot in a leather case, and he goes back to Redport; and it’s his duty before he goes to the office to go to the Redport Bank and pay in and draw out whatever’s required.’ I did not sse how this made matters any better from a prudential point of view, bnt I did not venture again upon what I felt to be rather dangerous ground, ‘Then all your transactions with the branch Bank at Redport,’ I asked, ‘ are confined to ten o’clock on Saturday morning ? This oheque is stamped as cashed on the 15 th, which would be a Saturday. Of course we shall learn from yonr pass book, or from the cheques themselves, If that was so with the others. If so, the false cheques must either have been presented together with the others or by somebody who knew your system. Also, it Is clear they were drawn, judging from this, by somebody who had exceptional means of knowing your handwriting, and of practising it at leisure—and, if I may say so, how little likely you were, with such a system of business as yours, to detect fraud very soon. Also, by somebody to whom your oheque book was accessible. In one way or another. Are these cheques taken from your cheque book, or can the thief have got hold of some other?’ I oould see that John Bailer began to look strangely troubled. * From mine I’ said he, In a curiously defiant tone.

‘And the counterfoils? Cut out, I suppose ? That’s the usual way,’ ‘No ; every man Jack filled up in a way that would take the very devil in. And yet, Mr Standish, those cheques are no more my drawing than they’re yours. I keep a private account of every cheque I draw; and it stands to reason that when four cheques that you know you didn’t draw are alone missing oat of an account of fifty that yon know yon did draw, then you can’t be mistaken. That’s as clear aa day.’ 4 All right, Mr Bailor; it Is as clear aa day, We’U have that forger beyond the seas in, comparatively speaking, the twinkling of an eye. What’s the fellow’s name V * His name ? And how the denoe, sir, should I know his name ?’

‘Not know the name of your own clerk of the works at Redport ? By Jove, Mr Buffer, I shall begin to think yon a queer sort of a business man!’

* WeTe at crooked answers, Mr Standish, it seems to me,” he said, wiping his forehead hard ; *my clerk at Redport is Adam Brown.’

‘ Then it's lucky Mr Adam Brown didn’t live when forgers were hanged,’ said I. To my amazement, John Boiler sprang up in a towering rage. ‘ And you—you dare to hint that—that—that poor lad, who’s as honest as the day, would steal one farthing from me—a young man I’d trust with untold gold—the orphan of the best woman that ever touched God’s earth ! I won’t hear it, sir. I didn’t come to you to hear slander against her son, that I’ve looked after for her sake, and who’d no more touch a farthing rushlight that belonged to me than you would yourself, sir! If there’s one man who’s as guiltless as the babe unborn, it’s Adam Brown.’ * I honor your confidence in your servant, sir,’ said I ; * trust makes trustworthy nine times out of ton. But look here. Here Is a man whom you trust implicitly on your own showing. There is your cheque book for one night every week under the same roof with him, the place where yon keep it probably known to him. That man knows your writing, and how you fill up your cheques and your counterfoils. That man transacts all your business with the Bank at Redport. That man, it seems, may account to you or not account to you, just In what form he will. Nobody else In your employ seems open to suspicion ; no stranger could act in such a way without instant detection. Think what any jury would say to such a state of things. Why, he might hope to carry on such a game as that safely for many years ; at any rate, till he had restored what he bad taken, as all those young rascals always mean to do some day when some impossible horse wins some impossible Derby. Adam Brown is the man.

John Buller’s auger passed suddenly, as if ashamed of Itself; and there was no mistaking the profound distress of the tone in which he answered me. * You’ll excuse me,’ said he; *it was because I saw all this just as well as you do that 1 came here, hoping yon, as a practical and unprejudiced man, would help me to see t’other side of things. And I was disappointed you didn’t, and that was what made me fly. Don't you go to mistake me for being any softer than my neighbors. If you can prove to me the man who’s been tampering with my cheque book is Adam Brown I’U treat him like a viper, Mr Standish—that I will. I’d sooner cut my own throat than throw a crust to my own son, if T had one. If I couldn’t trust him as my own right hand. And, if you’ll believe It, sir, Adam Brown has been more to me than If he was my own son. For he’s the orphan boy of the only woman I ever wanted to marry, or ever shall, I don’t suspect him for one moment —not I. But for that very reason I want you to show me how to put him above the suspicion of any outside man, such as you. lake my word for It, It’s not Adam Brown. If It was, I’d have done his business for him pretty quick, without bothering myself to come to you. But make as if I thought it was. Aon prove the innocence of an Innocent lad, and, by Jingo, you'll take off my mind the biggest load of bricks that ever was on,’ {To It continued.)