who filled up the counterfoil and body of one blank cheque, glancing
sometimes at the paper in front of him. He returned it to Gyánendra
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, Gyánendra 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 Gyánendra, 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,