Part 33 (1/2)

Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite ran his eye over the neatly-written pages, pa.s.sing rapidly on to the important date--November 12th. And he suddenly thrust out his arm and put the tip of a big yellow finger on one particular entry.

”There!” he exclaimed. ”Look at that. 'Self, 5,000.' Paid out, you see, on November 12th. Do you see?”

Mr. Playbourne laughed cynically.

”My dear sir!” he said. ”Do you mean to say that you attach any importance to an entry like that? Jacob Herapath constantly drew cheques to self for five, ten, twenty, thirty--aye, fifty thousand pounds! He dealt in tens of thousands--he was always buying or selling. Five thousand pounds!--a fleabite!”

”All the same, if you please,” said the Professor quietly, ”I should like to know if Jacob Herapath presented that self cheque himself, and if so, how he took the money it represents.”

”Oh, very well!” said the manager resignedly. He touched his bell again, and looked wearily at the clerk who answered it. ”Find out if the late Mr. Herapath himself presented a cheque for five thousand on November 12th, and if so, how he took it,” he said. ”Well,” he continued, turning to his visitors. ”Do you see anything with any further possible mystery attached to it?”

”There's an entry there--the last,” observed Mr. Halfpenny. ”That.

'Dimambro: three thousand guineas.' That's the same date.”

Mr. Playbourne suddenly showed some interest and animation. His eyes brightened; he sat up erect.

”Ah!” he said. ”Well, now, that is somewhat remarkable, that entry!--though of course there's nothing out of the common in it. But that cheque was most certainly the very last ever drawn by Jacob Herapath, and according to strict law, it never ought to have been paid out by us.”

”Why?” asked Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite.

”Because Jacob Herapath, the drawer, was dead before it was presented,”

replied the manager. ”But of course we didn't know that. The cheque, you see, was drawn on November 12th, and it was presented here as soon as ever the doors were opened next morning and before any of us knew of what had happened during the night, and it was accordingly honoured in the usual way.”

”The payee, of course, was known?” observed Mr. Halfpenny.

”No, he was not known, but he endorsed the cheque with name and address, and there can be no reason whatever to doubt that it had come to him in the ordinary way of business,” replied the manager. ”Quite a usual transaction, but, as I say, noteworthy, because, as you know, a cheque is no good after its drawer's demise.”

Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite, who appeared to have fallen into a brown study for a moment, suddenly looked up.

”Now I wonder if we might be permitted to see that cheque--as a curiosity?” he said. ”Can we be favoured so far?”

”Oh, certainly, certainly,” answered Mr. Playbourne. ”No trouble.

I'll--ah, here's your information about the other cheque--the self cheque for five thousand.”

He took a slip of paper from the clerk who just then entered, and read it aloud.

”Here you are,” he said. ”'Mr. Herapath cashed cheque for 5,000 himself, at three o'clock; the money in fifty notes of 100 each, numbered as follows'--you can take this slip, if you like,” he continued, handing the paper to Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite, as the obviously most interested man of his party. ”There are the numbers of the notes. Of course, I can't see how all this throws any light on the mystery of Herapath's murder, but perhaps you can. Sellers,” he continued, turning to the clerk, and beckoning him to look at the pa.s.s-book, ”find me the cheque referred to there, and bring it here.”

The clerk returned in a few minutes with the cheque, which Mr.

Playbourne at once exhibited to his visitors.

”There you are, gentlemen,” he said. ”Quite a curiosity!--certainly the last cheque ever drawn by our poor friend. There, you see, is his well-known signature with his secret little mark which you wouldn't detect--secret between him and us, eh!--big, bold handwriting, wasn't it? Sad to think that that was--very likely--the last time he used a pen!”

Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite in his turn handled the cheque. Its face gave him small concern; what he was most interested in was the endors.e.m.e.nt on the back. Without saying anything to his companions, he memorized that endors.e.m.e.nt, and he was still murmuring it to himself when, a few minutes later, he walked out of the bank.

”Luigi Dimambro, Hotel Ravenna, Soho.”

CHAPTER XXVIII