"Then he drew out all his balance very gradually, and when it was exhausted, called, asked for his box, opened it in the presence of the manager, and taking from it fifty Bank of England one hundred pound notes, asked that they might be placed to his credit, as he was expecting heavy calls momently. He had been speculating and had lost, he said. In a couple of weeks he drew out the five thousand in one cheque payable to himself.
"Shortly after this he took from the box, and handed the manager ten thousand pounds, saying he was still losing heavily, and should want the money that day, subject, of course, to a fair charge on the part of the bank. The bank accommodated him. He said there was a great deal more than ten ten thousands in the box, and showed the notes to the manager. Next day he came in a great state of excitement. He had a vast fortune within his grasp if he could only get money that day. He took from his pocket one hundred thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, and from his box all that was in it-one hundred and ten thousand more. Would they oblige him? It was neck or nothing with him. If he hadn't the money within three hours, he would be a ruined man; if he got the money, he could make a stupendous fortune. He would leave the odd ten thousand in the hands of the bank against expenses, interest, etc. Would they let him have two hundred thousand in French notes on the security of the Bank of England notes?
"After an hour's consideration the bank gave him the money, and never saw Mr. Jenkins afterwards. The two hundred and ten thousand pounds were forged notes. He had of course a capital of ten thousand pounds in good notes, but these he carried off. What he did at the box was mostly sleight-of-hand, for he was supposed to have brought the good notes in his pocket, and by a little elementary legerdemain appeared to take them out of the box which contained the forged notes.
"Mr. Davenport was in Paris at the time, and by the merest chance drew out all his money next day, when he got some of the forged notes, and on bringing them to London the crime was discovered.
"At first people were much concerned for Mr. Davenport, but they afterwards heard he would get all his money from the French bank. It appears Mr. Davenport gave two forged ten-pound notes-all the notes were tens and hundreds-to the unfortunate Fahey; and although he passed them in Dublin, he got as far as Kilcash before the police came up with him. The silliest part of it all was that he should be such a fool as to drown himself; for after he threw himself into the Hole, Mr. Davenport recollected he had given him the notes, and said Fahey's had come out of what the French bank had handed him.
"The whole affair gave Mr. Davenport an ugly turn, and they say he retired from business earlier than he had intended, even bad as his asthma undoubtedly was. That's all I know of the story," said Gorman, as he turned once more with his shoulder to the shutter, and gazed out into the dull, damp street.
CHAPTER XXI THE SEA
the private office of O'Hanlon, and found that gentleman encircled by hedges of legal documents, fast asleep, with a newspaper before him. The opening of the door roused the solicitor, who straightway sprang to his feet, exclaiming:
"My dear O'Brien, delighted to see you! Sit down. I'll be back in a moment."
He left the room, hastened into the outer office, asked Gorman what o'clock it was, and if the mail had been delivered yet, and then hurried back to his client, saying:
"Excuse my running away; there was something I had to say to my clerk. Now, how are you? What kind of a night had you?"
"I'm quite well, and had an excellent night. And you?"
"Oh, bad, bad! Nothing could be much worse. I didn't get an hour's sleep. I was dozing as you came in. Don't say anything about it. Remember your promise! But I am sure I am breaking down. I am certain I shall break down mentally soon."
"Nonsense!" cried O'Brien, cheerfully. "I am not going to listen to that rubbish in the noonday."
"And a beautiful noonday it is," said O'Hanlon, looking out into the meagrely illumined back-yard, with its grass-green water-butt resting unevenly on its grass-green stand; its flower-pots three-quarters full of completely sodden clay; its brokenhearted, lopsided, bedraggled whisk, reclining dejectedly partly against the humid white wall and partly against the bulged and staring water-butt; its dilapidated wooden shed that did not go through the farce of sheltering anything from the universal moisture save a battered watering-pot without a rose; and its ghastly six-foot-high arbor vitæ -a shrub which makes even summer sunshine look dull.
"I've been looking over the papers you lent me, and I had a chat with Gorman before I came into this room. Gorman told me more of Davenport and long ago than I knew up to this. But I can make nothing of your old client, and am sure the apparition was the result of pure nervous relaxation."
"But, confound it, my dear O'Brien, can't you see extreme mental relaxation is what I am in dread of?"