Justice | Page 6

to draft the instructions. [He goes out into FALDER'S room.]
WALTER. About that right-of-way case?
JAMES. Oh, well, we must go forward there. I thought you told me
yesterday the firm's balance was over four hundred.
WALTER. So it is.
JAMES. [Holding out the pass-book to his son] Three--five--one, no
recent cheques. Just get me out the cheque-book.
WALTER goes to a cupboard, unlocks a drawer and produces a
cheque-book.
JAMES. Tick the pounds in the counterfoils. Five, fifty-four, seven,
five, twenty-eight, twenty, ninety, eleven, fifty-two, seventy-one.
Tally?
WALTER. [Nodding] Can't understand. Made sure it was over four
hundred.
JAMES. Give me the cheque-book. [He takes the check-book and cons
the counterfoils] What's this ninety?
WALTER. Who drew it?
JAMES. You.
WALTER. [Taking the cheque-book] July 7th? That's the day I went
down to look over the Trenton Estate--last Friday week; I came back on
the Tuesday, you remember. But look here, father, it was nine I drew a
cheque for. Five guineas to Smithers and my expenses. It just covered
all but half a crown.
JAMES. [Gravely] Let's look at that ninety cheque. [He sorts the
cheque out from the bundle in the pocket of the pass-book] Seems all
right. There's no nine here. This is bad. Who cashed that nine-pound
cheque?

WALTER. [Puzzled and pained] Let's see! I was finishing Mrs.
Reddy's will--only just had time; yes--I gave it to Cokeson.
JAMES. Look at that 't' 'y': that yours?
WALTER. [After consideration] My y's curl back a little; this doesn't.
JAMES. [As COKESON re-enters from FALDER'S room] We must
ask him. Just come here and carry your mind back a bit, Cokeson.
D'you remember cashing a cheque for Mr. Walter last Friday week--the
day he went to Trenton?
COKESON. Ye-es. Nine pounds.
JAMES. Look at this. [Handing him the cheque.]
COKESON. No! Nine pounds. My lunch was just coming in; and of
course I like it hot; I gave the cheque to Davis to run round to the bank.
He brought it back, all gold--you remember, Mr. Walter, you wanted
some silver to pay your cab. [With a certain contemptuous compassion]
Here, let me see. You've got the wrong cheque.
He takes cheque-book and pass-book from WALTER.
WALTER. Afraid not.
COKESON. [Having seen for himself] It's funny.
JAMES. You gave it to Davis, and Davis sailed for Australia on
Monday. Looks black, Cokeson.
COKESON. [Puzzled and upset] why this'd be a felony! No, no! there's
some mistake.
JAMES. I hope so.
COKESON. There's never been anything of that sort in the office the
twenty-nine years I've been here.

JAMES. [Looking at cheque and counterfoil] This is a very clever bit
of work; a warning to you not to leave space after your figures, Walter.
WALTER. [Vexed] Yes, I know--I was in such a tearing hurry that
afternoon.
COKESON. [Suddenly] This has upset me.
JAMES. The counterfoil altered too--very deliberate piece of swindling.
What was Davis's ship?
WALTER. 'City of Rangoon'.
JAMES. We ought to wire and have him arrested at Naples; he can't be
there yet.
COKESON. His poor young wife. I liked the young man. Dear, oh dear!
In this office!
WALTER. Shall I go to the bank and ask the cashier?
JAMES. [Grimly] Bring him round here. And ring up Scotland Yard.
WALTER. Really?
He goes out through the outer office. JAMES paces the room. He stops
and looks at COKESON, who is disconsolately rubbing the knees of his
trousers.
JAMES. Well, Cokeson! There's something in character, isn't there?
COKESON. [Looking at him over his spectacles] I don't quite take you,
sir.
JAMES. Your story, would sound d----d thin to any one who didn't
know you.
COKESON. Ye-es! [He laughs. Then with a sudden gravity] I'm sorry
for that young man. I feel it as if it was my own son, Mr. James.

JAMES. A nasty business!
COKESON. It unsettles you. All goes on regular, and then a thing like
this happens. Shan't relish my lunch to-day.
JAMES. As bad as that, Cokeson?
COKESON. It makes you think. [Confidentially] He must have had
temptation.
JAMES. Not so fast. We haven't convicted him yet.
COKESON. I'd sooner have lost a month's salary than had this happen.
[He broods.]
JAMES. I hope that fellow will hurry up.
COKESON. [Keeping things pleasant for the cashier] It isn't fifty yards,
Mr. James. He won't be a minute.
JAMES. The idea of dishonesty about this office it hits me hard,
Cokeson.
He goes towards the door of the partners' room.
SWEEDLE. [Entering quietly, to COKESON in a low voice] She's
popped up again, sir-something she forgot to say to Falder.
COKESON. [Roused from his abstraction] Eh? Impossible. Send her
away!
JAMES. What's that?
COKESON. Nothing, Mr. James. A private matter. Here, I'll come
myself. [He goes into the outer office as JAMES passes into