A little way from the bank George had another surprise. He ran up against Mr. Brooks. ‘By Jove! Smith,’ exclaimed the manager, ‘we shall be late! I must go straight on to the tallow market. Give me the notes, and go back to the office.’ George handed the notes to the manager, glad to be released of the responsibility of carrying them through the crowded city, and walked leisurely on to the office. Mr. Brooks was evidently in a hurry. The moment he had the notes in his possession he walked as fast as he could to the Bank of England, and there obtained gold for them. Two minutes afterwards he was in a hansom cab, being driven rapidly to the other end of London. George walked on towards the office, and just as he got to Gutter Lane some one tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and beheld to his astonishment the same dark face and hook nose that had attracted his attention at the bank. ‘I beg your pardon,’ said the stranger; ‘but have you just presented a cheque at the bank?’ ‘Yes,’ said George; ‘why do you ask?’ ‘I’ll tell you,’ replied the stranger. ‘I’m a detective.’ George started and coloured. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, ‘but I really can’t see what that has to do with it.’ ‘I’ll tell you. Don’t make a fuss; just listen to me, for what I’m going to say is for your good. I want to save you from a jolly mess.’ What on earth did the man mean? George had plenty of courage, but he really felt alarmed at being talked to like this by a detective. ‘You’re a green un, I can see,’ said the man; ‘and you’ve been made a mug of. You’re mixed up with the awfullest set of swindlers in London. They’ll all be in quod in half an hour; and it’s because I see you’ve been made a mug of I want to give you a chance of getting clear.’ George went hot and cold. Smith and Co. swindlers! A hundred little things, many that he had thought nothing of, now rushed back to his memory. A sudden revelation came, and in a moment the fabric of commercial eminence he had reared for himself fell to the ground. ‘Good heavens!’ he exclaimed, as the situation dawned upon him, ‘I must clear myself, and at once. What can I do?’ ‘Take my advice and do nothing. Hook it. I believe you’re innocent, or I shouldn’t have given you this warning. But you wouldn’t be able to prove your innocence to a jury. The gang you’re in is the artfullest in London; they’d lay it all on you, and bring twenty witnesses to prove it. What witnesses to character have you got?’ ‘Why, plenty!’ began George. Then suddenly he checked himself. He had been living under a false name. He had left his home in debt and difficulties after quarrelling with his father. How could he allow all this to be known to the world? How could he let his father and the people at home come to a police court, to find him in the dock with a gang of swindlers?