“This gentleman seems to think otherwise,” said Freeman. “Decidedly,” said Freyberger. “I am unacquainted with Sir Anthony Gyde’s handwriting, but I have every reason to believe the signature on that cheque to be a forgery.” “Excuse me,” said the manager. “Er—your authority—you are?” “Inspector Freyberger, of Scotland Yard.” “Ah!” He rang the bell and ordered the chief cashier to be called. “Mr S——,” said the manager, when that functionary appeared, “we have here a cheque of Sir Anthony Gyde’s; cast your eye upon it and tell me, would you cash it were it presented to you in the ordinary course of business?” The chief cashier cast his eye over the cheque just once. “I would cash it,” he replied. “It is, in your opinion, the writing of Sir Anthony Gyde?” “Yes, sir.” “Thank you,” said the manager, and the cashier withdrew. Freeman gave a self-satisfied and contemptuous sniff. There is more, sometimes, in a sniff than can be conveyed by any number or combination of words, and this sniff of Freeman’s went to the detective’s marrow; it contained quite a lot of things, self-commendation and contempt for the intelligence of Freyberger included. “Considering,” said Freeman, “that I have the pen in my pocket with which I saw Sir Anthony write the cheque, I would have been justified in presenting the thing for payment, notwithstanding the doubt cast upon it by this man,” indicating Freyberger; “but he was so sure, that I accompanied him here, losing precious time in the transaction. I shall take care that the matter is represented to his superiors at New Scotland Yard.” “Oh,” said Freyberger, who had been plunged for a moment in thought, and who seemed quite oblivious to the insulting remark just uttered. “You have the pen in your pocket, have you, with which Sir Anthony wrote this cheque? Please produce it.” Freeman produced it with a compassionate smile. He was beginning to feel almost sorry for the man he had brought to confusion. Freyberger’s steel grey eyes sparkled for a second when he saw the pen. It was a stylograph, not a fountain. He wrote a few words on a piece of paper with the pen and then handed it, with Sir Anthony’s cheque, to the manager. “Could those two writings have come from the point of the same pen?” he asked. “Oh, dear no,” said the manager. “This,” pointing to Freyberger’s writing, “is written with a stylograph; this,” pointing to the cheque of Sir Anthony, “is written with an ordinary pen. The writing varies in thickness. It is quite clear.” “Quite,” said Freyberger. Freeman flew into a rage. “You mean to suspect me——” he cried. “I suspect you of nothing,” said Freyberger; “if I did I would take you into custody. You have been simply imposed upon. _That cheque of Anthony Gyde’s is genuine._ This is what has happened. A person whom you took for Sir Anthony Gyde entered your shop yesterday morning. He had in his pocket a stolen cheque of Sir Anthony’s.