of
bank-notes, or heaps of gold and silver. Richard waited until there was
a vacant place at the counter, then stepped up with: "I want to
exchange some Bank of England notes, please, for your own notes."

"Next desk, Sir," said the man, not even looking up, but pointing with
the feather of his quill pen, then scratching away again as though he
would have overtaken the lost time.

There was a singing in Richard's ear as he repeated his request, and
fumbled in his breast-pocket for the notes; then a silence seemed to
fall upon the place, which a moment before had been so alive and noisy.
Every pen seemed to stop; the ring of the gold, the rustle of paper,
ceased; only the tick of the great clock over the centre door was heard.
"Thief, thief! thief, thief!" were the words it said.

"How much is there?" inquired the clerk, taking the bundle of notes from
Richard's hand; and his voice sounded as though it was uttered in an
empty room.

"Two thousand pounds," said Richard. "Is there any difficulty about it?
If so, I can take them elsewhere."

But the clerk had got them already, and was beginning to put down the
number of each in a great ledger. Richard had not calculated upon this
course of procedure, and had his reasons for objecting to it.

"80,431, 80,432, 80,433," read out the clerk aloud, and every soul in
the room seemed listening to him.

"That will do," said another voice close to Richard's ear, and a light
touch was laid upon his arm. Scarlet to the very temples, he looked up,
and there stood the little red-whiskered man from whom he had parted not
ten minutes before. A very grave expression was now in those twinkling
black eyes. "I have a warrant for your apprehension, young man, upon a
charge of theft," said he.

"Of theft!" said Richard, angrily. "What nonsense is this?"

"Those notes are stolen," said the little man. "Your name is Richard
Yorke, is it not?"

"What's that to you?" said Richard. "I decline--"

Here the door of the manager's room was opened, and out strode Solomon
Coe, with a look of cruel triumph on his harsh features. "That's your
man, right enough," said he. "He'd wheedle the devil, if once you let
him talk. Be off with him!"

The next moment Richard's wrists were seized, and he was hurried out
between two men--his late acquaintance of the hotel and a
policeman--down the bank steps, and into a fly that stood there in
waiting.

"To the County Jail!" cried Solomon, as he entered t