Lord Adolphus Vanlorme was a customer of the house of Dunbar and Dunbar;
the bill-brokers knew that _his_ acceptance was a forgery; but they knew
also that the signature of the drawer, Henry Dunbar, was genuine.

Messrs. Dunbar and Dunbar would not care to see the heir of their house
in a criminal dock.

There had been no hitch, therefore, no scandal, no prosecution. The
bills were duly honoured; but the dashing young officer was compelled to
sell his commission, and begin life afresh as a junior clerk in the
Calcutta banking-house.

This was a terrible mortification to the high-spirited young man.

The three men assembled in the quiet room behind the bank on this
oppressive August evening were talking together of that old story.

"I never saw Henry Dunbar," Mr. Balderby said; "for, as you know,
Wilmot, I didn't come into the firm till ten years after he sailed for
India; but I've heard the story hinted at amongst the clerks in the days
when I was only a clerk myself."

"I don't suppose you ever heard the rights of it, sir," Sampson Wilmot
answered, fumbling nervously with an old horn snuff-box and a red cotton
handkerchief, "and I doubt if any one knows the rights of that story
except me, and I can remember it as well as if it all happened
yesterday--ay, that I can--better than I remember many things that
really did happen yesterday."

"Let's hear the story from you, then, Sampson," Mr. Balderby said. "As