Yet at any moment some spark of information might make all these conflicting pieces of evidence fly together and form a whole, just as the electric spark in an atmosphere of oxygen and hydrogen causes the atoms of gas to fly together and form clear water. The chief received Freyberger and his evidence, and complimented him on what he had done. “We have little else,” said he. “Nothing material has turned up, only this. Gyde called at Smith and Wilkinson’s, the jewellers, in Regent Street, yesterday, signed a cheque for ten pounds and got them to cash it. He called shortly after ten. That is to say, a few minutes after he left Coutts’s.” “Good Heavens,” said Freyberger, “when will the wonders of this case cease? He had just left Coutts’s, where he could have cashed a cheque for five hundred, and he goes into a jeweller’s and cashes a cheque for ten. “Mind you, the man is in fear of his life; he has collected all his jewels. One would suppose he wanted to collect all the money he could, too, yet he makes a cheque out for ten pounds only, and adds to his traces by cashing it at a jeweller’s, when he could easily have cashed it at his bankers.” “That is so,” said the chief. “Yet the fact remains. The manager of Smith and Wilkinson’s called at Vine Street this morning with the news. Go to their shop and see what you can discover.” Freyberger did not need to be told twice. He found the manager of Smith and Wilkinson’s in. He was a stout, florid man, with a short manner. His tale was that at ten-fifteen or ten-twenty a.m. on the preceding day Sir Anthony Gyde, a customer well-known to the firm, entered the shop and asked him (Mr Freeman the manager) to cash a cheque for ten pounds. Sir Anthony took his cheque book from his pocket and wrote out a cheque for ten pounds, payable to himself, endorsed it, and handed it to him, Freeman, who cashed it, giving gold. “I should like to see the cheque,” said Freyberger. The manager produced it. It was uncrossed. “Have you presented it for payment yet?” asked the detective. “Of course not, else it would not be here.” “I have a grim suspicion that it would.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that I believe it to be a forgery.” “Nonsense,” said Freeman. There was an arrogance and a dash of impudence in this man’s manner that irritated our friend Freyberger. “You come with me to Coutts’s,” said he, “and we will see.” “Yes,” said Freeman, “we will see.” They took a hansom, and neither of them spoke a word till they drew up at Coutts’s. Freeman strutted in ahead of his companion and asked to see the manager on important business; when the clerk showed the way to the manager’s office, Freeman went first, Freyberger following humbly in his wake. “Never mind,” thought Freyberger, “he’ll soon be playing another tune.” The manager, an aristocratic-looking man with long white hands, side whiskers and a bald head, turned over the cheque in a meditative manner. “This cheque is perfectly in order,” he said.