CHAPTER I "What the--blazes!" George Coventry sat with an open envelope in his hand. It was an ordinary white envelope--"business" size--of not too fine a quality. It was addressed: "George Coventry, Esq., Hôtel Metropole, Brighton." The address was type-written. "Dun!" That was the one word which had crossed his mind when he first glanced at the exterior of this missive. When he took it up his suspicions were strengthened. It was fat and bulky. "Contains either a writ or a bill in several volumes." He laid it down again. He looked at it ruefully as he puffed at his pipe. Then, gathering together his courage with a sigh, he opened it. It was at this point he emitted the above exclamation,--"What the--blazes!" The envelope was full of crinkly pieces of paper--bank-notes. There were ten of them. Each was for a thousand pounds. Mr Coventry stared at them with bewildered amazement. "Someone is having a joke with me! Bank of Elegance, for a fiver!" But they were not on the Bank of Elegance. Mr Coventry fancied that he knew a genuine bank-note when he saw one. After examination, he concluded that if these were forgeries, then he was not so good a judge as he thought he was. He took a five-pound note from his pocket-book for the purpose of comparison. "Right uns, as I'm a sinner! Then, in that case, it strikes me they've been sent to the wrong address." In his desire to establish the genuineness of the notes, he had temporarily overlooked a sheet of paper which he had drawn with them from the envelope. This he now examined. It was a single sheet of large post. On it these words were typewritten,-- "The accompanying bank-notes (£10,000) are forwarded to Mr George Coventry, to enable him to pay the losses which he has experienced during the Brighton races." When Mr Coventry read this, his bewilderment, instead of being diminished, was considerably increased. There was no signature, no address, no clue to the sender. One type-writer is like another, so that there was no clue in the words themselves. Someone, of infinite faith, had entrusted £10,000 to the guardianship of a flimsy envelope and of a penny stamp. Mr Coventry had flattered himself that no one knew--as yet--of the particularly tight place that he was in. Here was proof positive that he had been guilty of self-deception indeed.