“I suppose my training under Roger Shandon had taken the refined edge off any honesty I had. Or else it had left the honesty but blunted my respect for the conventions, if you like it better that way. It seemed to me, anyhow, a simple enough state of affairs. This fellow Shandon had picked my pocket—at least that was what it amounted to in practice, though I doubt if I could have charged him with fraud and brought it home to him. Well, I saw no particular reason why he should get away with my money. He’d taken advantage of my stupidity or trustfulness, or whatever you like to call it. I decided to pay him back in his own coin. I might have milked him of a fair extra sum as a fine; but that didn’t suit my book. I’ve got a peculiar brand of conscience; and I made up my mind that I’d take precisely the cash that he cheated me out of. No doubt the odd figures on the cheque surprised you.” “No,” Sir Clinton objected. “I simply took it that Shandon wasn’t in the habit of drawing cheques for round thousands and that you filled in an odd figure so as not to make the cheque look uncommon.” “I’d have done that in any case, of course,” Stenness explained, “but as it happened, the exact sum he took from me originally made a likely enough figure; and I stuck to it. I didn’t even fine him a sovereign for his swindling. I contented myself with taking back exactly what I’d lost. I saw nothing wrong in it; and I see nothing wrong in it now. My conscience doesn’t trouble me a rap in the matter. Legally, of course, it’s quite a different question.” “Quite,” said Sir Clinton, but his tone gave no clue to his views on the matter. “As to the actual business, I needn’t go over it; for you put your finger on it quite correctly up to a point, not ten minutes ago. I forged his signature, destroyed the cancelled cheque, cut the counterfoil out of the cheque-book, and cashed the forged cheque. Nobody suspected anything.” “There was no reason why they should—at the time.” “No. But now I come to the point where you made a further suggestion. You brought out the idea that I’d murdered Shandon to cover the trail.” “I suggested it as an hypothesis that some people might be inclined to put forward,” corrected Sir Clinton. “If you remember, I refrained from supporting it myself.” Stenness reflected for a moment. “That’s true. But murder never entered into my plans at all. Bear in mind that I don’t feel a criminal in this affair. All I’ve done is to take my own money out of the hand of a fellow who had picked my pocket. You’d recover your own purse if you caught a thief red-handed with it; and you wouldn’t call yourself a robber for doing so. Well, no more do I.” “Go on,” said Sir Clinton, in unconscious plagiarism.