CONTENTS

         The door of FALDER'S room is quietly opened, and FALDER, with his hat in his hand, moves towards the door of the outer office.       

       JAMES. [Quietly] Where are you going, Falder?     

       FALDER. To have my lunch, sir.     

       JAMES. Wait a few minutes, would you? I want to speak to you about this lease.     

       FALDER. Yes, sir. [He goes back into his room.]     

       COWLEY. If I'm wanted, I can swear that's the young man who cashed the cheque. It was the last cheque I handled that morning before my lunch. These are the numbers of the notes he had. [He puts a slip of paper on the table; then, brushing his hat round] Good-morning!     

       JAMES. Good-morning, Mr. Cowley!     

       COWLEY. [To COKESON] Good-morning.     

       COKESON. [With Stupefaction] Good-morning.     

CONTENTS

         The cashier goes out through the outer office. COKESON sits down in his chair, as though it were the only place left in the morass of his feelings.       

       WALTER. What are you going to do?     

       JAMES. Have him in. Give me the cheque and the counterfoil.     

       COKESON. I don't understand. I thought young Davis——     

       JAMES. We shall see.     

       WALTER. One moment, father: have you thought it out?     

       JAMES. Call him in!     

       COKESON. [Rising with difficulty and opening FALDER'S door; hoarsely] Step in here a minute.     

       FALDER. [Impassively] Yes, sir?     

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