whispering together.  On Tuesday neither of them left the office for lunch with the other clerks, and I seized some pretext for entering the room where they sit.  Gyanendra roughly bade me begone; so I went to the verandah outside and peeped through the jilmils (Venetian blinds) of a window close to their desk.  Lakshminarain was copying some English words from a paper on his left side, while the other clerk looked on, nodding and shaking his head from time to time.  After writing in this fashion for a while, Lakshminarain took a sheet of notepaper covered with writing and copied the signature many times, until both babus were satisfied with the result.  Then I saw Gyanendra unlock Pulin Babu’s desk, take out a cheque-book, and hand it to the other man, who filled up the counterfoil and body of one blank cheque, glancing sometimes at the paper in front of him.  He returned it to Gyanendra who placed it in a pocket-book.  After tearing up the papers they had used and throwing them into the waste-paper basket, they left the room.  I ran round, carefully avoiding them, picked the fragments of paper out of the basket, tied them in a corner of my gamcha (wrapper), and left the office quickly, asking the doorkeeper what direction they had taken.  When he said that they had turned northwards, I guessed that they were off to the Bank, in order to cash the cheque, and sure enough I overtook them not more than a rassi from the office.  Following them at a little distance on the other side of the street, I saw them stop outside the Standard Bank and look anxiously around.  Presently a schoolboy passed by, whom they hailed and, after talking for a while, Gyanendra handed him the cheque with a small linen money-bag, and pointed to the door of the Bank.  The lad went inside, while both babus waited round the corner.  In a short time he came out and handed the bag full of money to Gyanendra, who gave him something and hurried back to the office with his companion.  Putting two and two together I felt assured that those clerks had forged the cheque; and had I known where Pulin Babu lived, I would certainly have communicated my suspicions to him.  Having to work without his help, I persuaded a student, who lodges near my quarters, to piece the scraps of paper together.  It took him two hours to do so, and we then pasted them carefully on this sheet of foolscap.  You will see, Saheb, that there are thirty-seven in all, and only three missing.”

The story made a deep impression on Mr. Henderson and the Police Inspector, while Pulin was raised to the seventh heaven of delight by the thought that his innocence might yet be established,

“Could you identify the boy?” asked the Europeans with one breath.

“I don’t know his name,” was Ramtonu’s rejoinder; “but I think I could pick him out, for he passes this office daily on his way to and from school.  But this is just the time when he goes home for tiffin.  With your Highness’s permission, I will watch for him in the street.”