the surmise that the missing cheque had been changed into good money on the saturday night, proved to be correct. white, the butcher at the corner of the shambles, had given change for it, and locked up the cheque in the cash-box. had he paid it into the bank on monday, he would have found what it was worth. but he did not do so. mr. white was a fat man with a good-humoured countenance and black hair. sergeant delves proceeded to his house some time on the tuesday.
"i hear you cashed a cheque of the messrs. dunn on saturday night," began he. "who brought it to you?"
"ah, what about that cheque?" returned the butcher. "one of your men has been in here, asking a lot of questions."
"a good deal about it," said the sergeant. "it was stolen from mr. ashley."
"stolen from mr. ashley!" echoed the butcher, staring at sergeant delves.
"stolen out of his desk. and you stand a nice chance, white, of losing the money. you should be more cautious. who was it brought it here?"
"a gentleman. a respectable man, at any rate. who says it's stolen?"
"i do," replied the sergeant, sitting himself down on the meat-block—rather a damp seat from its just having been washed with hot water. delves liked to make himself familiar with his old friends in helstonleigh in a patronising manner; it was only lately he had been promoted to sergeant. "now! let's have the particulars, white."
"i had just shut up my shop, all but the door, when in come a gentleman in a cloak and cap. 'could you oblige the messrs. dunn with change for a cheque, mr. white?' says he, handing a cheque to me. 'yes, sir,' said i, 'i can; very happy to oblige 'em. would you like it in gold?' well, he said he would like it in gold, and i gave it to him. 'thank ye,' said he; 'i'd have got it nearer if i could, for i'm troubled to death with tooth-ache; but people are shut up:' and i noticed that he had kept his white handkerchief up to his mouth and nose. he went out with the gold, and i put up the cheque. and that's all i know about it, delves."
"don't you know who it was?"
"no, i don't. he had a cap on, with the ears coming down his cheeks; and, what with that, and the peak over his eyes, and the white handkerchief held up to his nose, i didn't so much as get a sight of his face. the shop was pretty near dark, too, for the gas was out. there was only a candle at the pay window."
"if a man came in disguised like that, asking to have a cheque changed into gold, it might have occurred to some tradesmen there'd be something wrong about it," cried the sergeant.
"i didn't know he was disguised," objected the butcher. "i saw it was a good cheque of the messrs. dunn, and i never gave a thought to anything else. i've had their cheques before to-day. mr. william dunn has dealt here this twenty year. but now that it's put into my head, i begin to think he was disguised," continued the butcher. "his voice was odd, thick and low, and he spoke as if he had plums in his mouth."
"should you know him again?"
"ay. that is if he came in dressed as he was then. i'd know the cloak out of a hundred. it was one of them old-fashioned plaid rockelows."
"roquelaures," corrected the sergeant.
"something of that. the collar was lined with red, with a little edge of fur on it. there's a few such shaped cloaks in the town now, made of blue serge or cloth."
"what time was it?" asked the sergeant.
"just eleven. i was shutting up."
sergeant delves took possession of the cheque and proceeded to the office of mr. dare. a long conference ensued, and then they went out together towards mr. ashley's manufactory. on the road they happened to meet cyril, and mr. dare drew him aside.
"do you happen to know any one who wears an old-fashioned plaid cloak?" he asked.
"halliburton wears one," replied cyril: "the greatest object of a thing you ever saw. i say," continued cyril, "what's old delves doing with you?"
"not much," carelessly said mr. dare. "he has been looking after a little private business for me."
"oh, is that all?" and cyril, feeling reassured, tore off on the errand he was bound for. for reasons best known to himself, it would not have pleased him that sergeant delves should be pressed into the affair of the cheque. at least, cyril would have preferred that the matter should be allowed to rest.
he executed his commission, one that he had been charged with by samuel lynn, turned back, passed the manufactory, and took his way to honey fair on a little matter of his own. it was only the purchase of a dog—not to make a mystery of it. a dog that had taken cyril's fancy, and for which he and the owner had not yet been able to come to terms. so he was going up again to try his powers of persuasion.
as he walked rapidly through honey fair, he saw a little bit of by-play on the opposite side. a young woman in a tattered gown, and a dirty bonnet drawn over her face, was walking along as rapidly as he. her bent head, her humble attitude, her shrinking air, her haste to get out of sight of others, all betrayed that she, from some cause or other, was not in good odour with the world around. that she felt herself under a cloud, was only too apparent: it was a cloud of humiliation, for which she had only herself to thank. the women who met her hurried past with a toss of the head and then stood to peep after her as she disappeared in the distance.
she hurried—hurried past them—glad, it seemed, to be away from their stern looks and condemning eyes. had you seen her, you would never have recognised her. in the dim eye, darker than of yore, the white cheek, the wasted form, no likeness remained of the once-blooming caroline mason.
just as she passed opposite to cyril, eliza tyrrett came out of a house and met her; and eliza, picking up her skirts, lest they should become contaminated, swept past with a sidelong glance of reproach and a scornful gesture. caroline's head only bent the lower as she glided away from her old companion.
it had been just as well that charlotte east had not sent back that bundle, years ago, to surprise anthony dare. it was years now since charlotte herself had come to the same conclusion.
