The clerk gazed across at him. "Yes, Sir Charles," he answered, in
a somewhat severe tone. "You must remember you drew a quarter's
dividend from myself--last week--at this very counter."
Charles stared at him fixedly. "Show me the signature," he said at
last, in a slow, dazed fashion. I suspected mischief.
The clerk pushed the book across to him. Charles examined the name
close.
"Colonel Clay again!" he cried, turning to me with a despondent air.
"He must have dressed the part. I shall die in the workhouse, Sey!
That man has stolen away even my nest-egg from me."
I saw it at a glance. "Mrs. Quackenboss!" I put in. "Those portraits
on the Etruria! It was to help him in his make-up! You recollect,
she sketched your face and figure at all possible angles."
"And last quarter's?" Charles inquired, staggering.
The clerk turned up the entry. "Drawn on the 10th of July,"
he answered, carelessly, as if it mattered nothing.
Then I knew why the Colonel had run across to England.
Charles positively reeled. "Take me home, Sey," he cried. "I am
ruined, ruined! He will leave me with not half a million in the
world. My poor, poor boys will beg their bread, unheeded, through
the streets of London!"
(As Amelia has landed estate settled upon her worth a hundred and
fifty thousand pounds, this last contingency affected me less to
tears than Charles seemed to think necessary.
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