'I have called,' said the visitor hurriedly, 'to tell you of something important, that happened this morning. I did not know it when we were talking over this business, Mr. Austin. It happened at ten o'clock, as soon as the doors were open. A letter was brought by hand from Mr. Dering----' 'Another forgery! When will they stop?' '----asking for those certificates to be given to the bearer--Mr. Edmund Gray's certificates. This was done. They are no longer at the Bank.' 'Oh! Then they have been warned,' cried George. 'Who was the messenger?' 'He was a boy. Looked like an office boy.' 'I will inquire directly if it was one of our boys. Go on.' 'That settles the difficulty as to our action in case the papers are wanted by you. We no longer hold them. As to the dividends, we shall continue to receive them to the account of Mr. Edmund Gray until we get an order or an injunction.' 'The difficulty,' said George, 'is to connect the case with Mr. Edmund Gray bodily. At present, we have nothing but the letters to go upon. Suppose the real Edmund Gray says that he knows nothing about it. What are we to do? You remember receiving the dividends for him. Has he drawn a cheque?' 'No; we have never paid any cheque at all for him.' 'Have you seen him?' 'No; I have never seen him.' 'It is a most wonderful puzzle. After all, the withdrawal of the papers can only mean a resolution to sell them. He must instruct somebody. He must appear in the matter.' 'He may instruct somebody as he instructed me--in the name of Mr. Dering.' 'Another forgery.' 'Yes,' said George. 'We must watch and find out this mysterious Edmund Gray. After all, it will not help us to say that a forged letter gave certain instructions to do certain things for a certain person--say the Queen--unless you can establish the complicity of that person. And that--so far--we certainly have not done. Meantime--what next?' Obviously, the next thing was to find out if any of the office boys had taken that letter to the Bank. No one had been sent on that errand. CHAPTER XIV CHECKLEY'S CASE That evening Mr. Checkley was not in his customary place at the _Salutation_, where his presence was greatly desired. He arrived late, when it wanted only a quarter to eleven. The faded barrister was left alone in the room, lingering over the day's paper with his empty glass beside him. Mr. Checkley entered with an air of triumph, and something like the elastic spring of a victor in his aged step. He called Robert, and ordered at his own expense, for himself, a costly drink--a compound of Jamaica rum, hot water, sugar and lemon, although it was an evening in July and, for the time of year, almost pleasantly warm. Nor did he stop here, for with the manner of a man who just for once--to mark a joyful occasion--plunges, he rattled his money in his pocket and ordered another for the barrister. 'For,' he said, 'this evening I have done a good work, and I will mark the day.'