HERRESFORD IS TOLD
Herresford was in a more than usually unpleasant frame of mind when the
manager of Ormsby's bank came to bring the news that someone had robbed
him of seven thousand dollars. The old man was no longer in the usual
bedroom, lying on his ebony bed. A sudden impulse had seized him to be
moved to another portion of the house, where he could see a fresh section
of the grounds. He needed a change, and he wanted to spy out new defects.
A sudden removal to a room in the front of the house revealed the fact
that everything had been neglected except the portion of the garden which
had formerly come within range of his field-glasses.
Rage accordingly! Stormy interviews, with violent threats of instant
dismissal of the whole outdoor staff, petulant abuse of people who had
nothing whatever to do with the neglect of the park, and a display of
energy and mental activity surprising in one of such advanced age. He was
in the middle of an altercation with his steward--who resigned his
position about once a month--when the bank-manager was announced.
At the mention of the word bank, the old man lost all interest in things
out of doors.
"Send him up--send him up--don't keep him waiting," he cried. "Time is
money. He may have come to tell me that I must sell something. Nothing is
more important in life than money. See that there are pens and paper, in
case I have to sign anything."
The quiet, urbane bank-manager had never before interviewed this terrible
personage. He had heard strange stories of an abusive old man in his
dotage, who contrived to make it very unpleasant for any representative
of the bank sent up to his bedroom to get documents signed, and was
therefore surprised to see an alert, hawk-eyed old gentleman, with a
skull-cap and a dressing-jacket, sitting up in bed in a small turret
bedroom, smiling, and almost genial.
"Will you take a seat, Mr.----? I didn't quite catch your name."
"Barnby, sir."
"Take a seat, Mr. Barnby. You've come to see me about money?"
"Yes, sir, an unpleasant matter, I fear."
"Depression in the market, eh? Things still falling? Ah! It's the war,
the war--curse it! Tell me more--tell me quickly!"
"It's a family matter, sir."
"Family matter! What has my family to do with my money--ha! I guess why
you've come. Yes--yes--something to do with my grandson?"
"Just so, sir."
"What is it now? Debts, overdrawn accounts--what--what?"
"To put the matter in a nutshell, sir, two checks were presented some
weeks ago, signed by you, one for two thousand dollars, the other for
five thousand dollars--which--"
"What!--when? I haven't signed a check for any thousand dollars for
months." This was true, as the miser's creditors knew to their cost. It
was next to impossible to collect money from him.
"One check was made out to your daughter, Mary Swinton, and presented at
the bank, and cashed by your grandson, Mr. Richard Swinton."
"Yes, for five dollars."
"Five thousand dollars, sir."
"But I tell you I never drew it."
"I'm very sorry to hear it, sir. The first check for two thousand dollars
looks very much as though it had been altered, having been originally for
two dollars; and, in the second check, made out to Mr. Swinton, the same
kind of alteration occurs--five seems to have been changed into five
thousand."
"What!" screamed the old man, raising himself on one hand and extending
the other. "Let me look! Let me look!"
His bony claw was outstretched, every finger quivering with excitement.
"These are the checks, sir. That is your correct signature, I believe?"
"I never signed them--I never signed them. Take them away. They're not
mine."
"Pardon me, sir, the signature is undoubtedly yours. Do you remember
signing any check for two dollars or for five?"
"Yes, yes, of course. I gave her two--yes--and I gave her five--for the
boy."
"Just so, sir. Well, some fraudulent person has altered the figures.
You'll see, if you look through this magnifying glass, holding the glass
some distance from the eyes, that the ink of the major part of the check
is different. When Mr. Swinton presented these checks, the ink was new,
and the alterations were not apparent. But, in the course of time, the
ink of the forgery has darkened."
"The scoundrel!" cried the old man in guttural rage. "I always said he'd
come to a bad end--but I never believed it--never believed it. Let me
look again. The rascal! The scoundrel! Do you mean to say he has robbed
your bank of seven thousand dollars?"
"No, he has robbed you, sir," replied the bank-manager, with alacrity,
for his instructions were to drive home, at all costs, the fact that it
was Herresford who had been swindled, and not the bank. They knew the
man they were dealing with, and had no fancy for fighting on technical
points. Unfortunately for the bank, Mr. Barnby was a little too eager.
"My money? Why should I lose money?" snapped the miser, turning around
upon him. "I didn't alter the checks. You ought to keep your eyes open.
If swindlers choose to tamper with my paper, what's it to do with me?
It's your risk, your business, your loss, not mine."
"No, sir, surely not. A member of your own family--"
"A member of my own family be hanged, sir. He's no child of mine. He's
the son of that canting sky-pilot, that parson of the slums."
"But he is your grandson, sir. I take it that you would not desire a
scandal, a public exposure."
"A scandal! What's a scandal to me? Am I to pay seven thousand dollars
for the privilege of being robbed, sir? No, sir. I entrusted you with the
care of my money. You ought to take proper precautions, and safeguard me
against swindlers and forgers."
"But he is your heir."
"Nothing of the sort. He is not my heir."
"But some day--"
"Some day! What has some day got to do with you, eh, sir? Are you in my
confidence, sir? Have I ever told you that I intend to leave my money to
my grandson?"
"No, sir, of course not. I beg your pardon if I presumed--"
"You do presume, sir."
Poor Mr. Barnby was in a perspiration. The keen, little old man was
besting and flurrying him; he was no match for this irascible invalid.
"Then, sir, I take it, that you wish us to prosecute your grandson--who
is at the war."
"Prosecute whom you like, sir, but don't come here pretending that you're
not responsible for the acts of fraudulent swindlers."
"It has been fought out over and over again, and I believe never settled
satisfactorily."
"Then, it is settled this time--unless you wish me to withdraw my account
from your bank instantly--I'm the best customer you've got. Prosecute,
sir--prosecute. Have him home from the war, and fling him into jail."
"Of course, sir, we have no actual evidence that the forgery was made by
the young man, although he--er--presented the checks, and pursued an
unusual course. He took the amount in notes. The second amount he took
partly in notes, and paid the rest into his account, which has since gone
down to a few dollars. Of course, it may have been done by--er--someone
else. It is a difficult matter to decide who--er--that is who actually
made the alterations. We have not yet brought the matter to the notice of
Mrs. Swinton. She may be able to explain--"
"What! Do you mean to insinuate that my daughter--my daughter--sir, would
be capable of a low, cunning forgery?"
"I insinuate nothing, sir. But mothers will sometimes condone the faults
of their sons, and--er--it would be difficult, if she were to say--"
"Let me tell you that the two checks were signed by me for two and for
five dollars, and given into the hands of my daughter. If she was fool
enough to let them pass into the clutches of her rascally son, she must
take the consequences, and remember, sir, you'll get no money out of me.
I'll have my seven thousand, every penny."
Mr. Barnby subsided. The situation was clear enough. Herresford
repudiated the checks, and it was for Mr. Ormsby to decide what action
should be taken, and against whom. Mr. Barnby's personal opinion of the
forgery was that it might just as well have been done by Mrs. Swinton as
by her son. In fact, after a close perusal of the second check, to which
he had brought some knowledge of handwriting, he was more inclined to
regard her as the culprit. He knew Dick slightly, and certainly could not
credit him with the act of a fool. As a parting shot, he asked:
"Just for the sake of argument, sir, I presume that you would not have us
prosecute if it were your daughter; whereas, if it were your
grandson--?"
"Women don't forge, sir," snarled the old man, "they're too afraid of
paper money. I don't want to hear anything more about the matter. What I
do want is a full statement of my balance. And, if there's a dollar
short, I'll sue you, sir--yes, sue you!--for neglect of your trust."
"I quite understand, sir. I'll put your views before Mr. Ormsby. There is
no need for hurry. The young man is at the war."
"Have him home, sir, have him home," snapped the old man, "and as for his
mother--well, it serves her right--serves her right. Never would take my
advice. Obstinate as a mule. But I'll pay her out yet, ha, ha! Forgery!
Scandal, ha, ha! All her fine friends will stand by her now, of course.
Unnatural father, eh? Unnatural, because he knew what he was dealing
with. I knew my own flesh and blood. Like her mother--couldn't hold a
penny. Yet, married a beggar--and ruined him, too--ha, ha! Goes to church
three times on Sundays, and casts up her eyes to heaven, pleading for
sinners, and gambles all night at bridge. Now, she'll have the joy of
seeing her son in the dock--her dear son who was always dealt hardly
with by his grandfather, because his grandfather knew the breed. No sense
of the value of money. No brains! I'll have my revenge now. Yes, yes.
What are you staring at, sir? Get out of the room. How dare you insult my
daughter?"
"I said nothing, sir."
"Then, what are you waiting for? Get back to your bank, and look after my
money."