"I've got to go to my tailor's now," I said to Maurice, when we found ourselves outside on the pavement. "Right oh!" he drawled. "Don't forget it's the two-thirty on Thursday, if I don't see you before." "I shan't forget," I said cheerfully. "I'm looking forward to coming down to you." And with this truthful if somewhat misleading remark, I waved him farewell and walked off in the direction of Sackville Street. My interview with the tailor passed off quite successfully. It appeared that Northcote had only arranged to call in order to inspect some stuffs for a new shooting suit. I decided on a kind of buff-coloured Burberry, which struck me as likely to be useful if I survived the next three weeks, and then, just to encourage trade, gave the good man a further order for a pair of riding-breeches. After that I strolled over to Thierry's in Regent Street and bought myself a couple of pairs of boots; for, although I could wear them, Northcote's were just a shade too small to be comfortable. After my strict economy of the last few months, the spending of money in this fashion seemed to me a most attractive pastime. I therefore continued it by purchasing one or two other odds and ends at the Stores in Lower Regent Street, including a really admirable sword-stick, for which I paid nearly five pounds. Under the circumstances, it appeared to me cheap at the price. I was in some doubt what to do with Northcote's cheque for eight thousand. No other bank except his own was likely to cash it without inquiries, and although so far my extraordinary likeness to him had emerged triumphantly through all tests, I still felt a little shy of facing the penetrating eyes of a cashier. At last, however, I decided to risk it. The bank was the Piccadilly branch of the City and Provincial, so, walking back, I pushed open the swinging door and marched in with all the calm assurance that I could assume. There were several people at the long counter, but the moment I appeared an elderly cashier stepped forward, with that polite haste that bankers only assume for their more important customers. "Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said, with some deference. "Good morning," I returned. Then I paused. "I want to cash a cheque for eight thousand," I added. "Will my account stand it?" He smiled. "As far as I know, Mr. Northcote. If you will excuse me, I will just consult the ledger and see how your balance stands. Of course it will be perfectly all right about the cheque in any case, but should you be overdrawing to any extent, perhaps you would prefer to see the Manager." He departed to the back, returning a minute later with the gratifying information that there was precisely nine thousand one hundred and forty-eight pounds four shillings and sixpence to my credit. I handed him Northcote's cheque, and without further discussion he opened a drawer and began to count out a pile of bank-notes.