The news relating to the cheque fell upon the office like a clap of thunder. Every clerk in it felt uncomfortable especially those attached to Mr. Bede's department. The clerk at the bank, who had cashed the cheque, was questioned. It had been presented at the bank early in the afternoon, about half-past one o'clock he said, or between that and two. He had not taken notice of the presenter, but seemed to remember that he was a tall dark man, with black whiskers. Had taken it and cashed it quite as a matter of course; making no delay or query; it was a common thing for strangers, that is strangers to the bank, to present the cheques of Greatorex and Greatorex. No; he had not taken the number of the notes, for the best of all possible reasons--that he had paid it in gold, as requested. This clerk happened also to be the one to whom Sir Richard Yorke's son had presented the second cheque; he spoke to that gentleman of the fact of having cashed one an hour or two before, exactly similar; but Mr. Yorke seemed to intimate that it was all right; in short appeared offended at the subject being named to him. At present that comprised all the information they possessed. It was Mr. Bede Greatorex who, made the communication to the clerks in his room. He was sitting at his desk in the front office when they arrived,--an unusual circumstance; and when all were assembled and had settled to their several occupations, then he entered upon it. The cheque he had drawn out, as they might remember, on the previous morning for Sir Richard Yorke, and which he had locked up subsequently in his table-desk in the other room, had been abstracted from it, and cashed at the bank. He spoke in a quiet, friendly manner, just in the same tone he might have related it to a friend, not appearing to cast the least thought of possible suspicion upon any one of them. Nevertheless, no detective living could have watched their several demeanours, as they heard it, more keenly than did Mr. Bede Greatorex. The clerks seemed thunderstruck. Three of them gazed at him, unable for the moment to shape any reply; the other burst out at once. "The cheque gone! Stolen out of the desk, and cashed al the bank! My goodness! Who took it, sir?" The words came from nobody but Roland, you may be sure. Mr. Bede Greatorex went on to give a few explanatory details; and Roland's next movement was to rush into the adjoining room without asking permission, and give a few tugs to the lid of the table-desk. Back he clattered in a commotion. And here let it be remarked, en passant, that it is somewhat annoying to have to apply so frequently the word "clatter" to Roland's progress, imparting no doubt a good deal of unnecessary sameness. But there is really no other graphic expression that can be found to describe it. His steps were quick, and the soles of his boots made noise enough for ten.