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Page 52
At the beginning of the day there were no signs of it. The sky was blue
and free from all suggestions of approaching thunderbolts. Mr Waller,
still chirpy, had nothing but good news of Edward. Mike went for his
morning stroll round the office feeling that things had settled down
and had made up their mind to run smoothly.
When he got back, barely half an hour later, the storm had burst.
There was no one in the department at the moment of his arrival; but a
few minutes later he saw Mr Waller come out of the manager's room, and
make his way down the aisle.
It was his walk which first gave any hint that something was wrong. It
was the same limp, crushed walk which Mike had seen when Edward's
safety still hung in the balance.
As Mr Waller came nearer, Mike saw that the cashier's face was deadly
pale.
Mr Waller caught sight of him and quickened his pace.
'Jackson,' he said.
Mike came forward.
'Do you--remember--' he spoke slowly, and with an effort, 'do you
remember a cheque coming through the day before yesterday for a hundred
pounds, with Sir John Morrison's signature?'
'Yes. It came in the morning, rather late.'
Mike remembered the cheque perfectly well, owing to the amount. It was
the only three-figure cheque which had come across the counter during
the day. It had been presented just before the cashier had gone out to
lunch. He recollected the man who had presented it, a tallish man with
a beard. He had noticed him particularly because of the contrast
between his manner and that of the cashier. The former had been so very
cheery and breezy, the latter so dazed and silent.
'Why,' he said.
'It was a forgery,' muttered Mr Waller, sitting down heavily.
Mike could not take it in all at once. He was stunned. All he could
understand was that a far worse thing had happened than anything he
could have imagined.
'A forgery?' he said.
'A forgery. And a clumsy one. Oh it's hard. I should have seen it on
any other day but that. I could not have missed it. They showed me the
cheque in there just now. I could not believe that I had passed it. I
don't remember doing it. My mind was far away. I don't remember the
cheque or anything about it. Yet there it is.'
Once more Mike was tongue-tied. For the life of him he could not think
of anything to say. Surely, he thought, he could find _something_
in the shape of words to show his sympathy. But he could find nothing
that would not sound horribly stilted and cold. He sat silent.
'Sir John is in there,' went on the cashier. 'He is furious. Mr
Bickersdyke, too. They are both furious. I shall be dismissed. I shall
lose my place. I shall be dismissed.' He was talking more to himself
than to Mike. It was dreadful to see him sitting there, all limp and
broken.
'I shall lose my place. Mr Bickersdyke has wanted to get rid of me for
a long time. He never liked me. I shall be dismissed. What can I do?
I'm an old man. I can't make another start. I am good for nothing.
Nobody will take an old man like me.'
His voice died away. There was a silence. Mike sat staring miserably in
front of him.
Then, quite suddenly, an idea came to him. The whole pressure of the
atmosphere seemed to lift. He saw a way out. It was a curious crooked
way, but at that moment it stretched clear and broad before him. He
felt lighthearted and excited, as if he were watching the development
of some interesting play at the theatre.
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