"Where are they?"
"And the numbered notes," said Monckton, "where are they?"
"Gentlemen," said Hope, "may I offer my advice?"
"Who the devil are you?" said Monckton.
"He is my new partner, my associate in business," said the politic
Bartley. Then deferentially to Hope, "What do you advise?"
"You have two clerks. I would examine them both."
"Examine me?" cried Monckton. "Mr. Bartley, will you allow such an
affront to be put on your old and faithful servant?"
"If you are innocent, why object?" said young Clifford, spitefully,
before Bartley could answer.
The remark struck Bartley, and he acted on it.
"Well, it is only fair to Mr. Bolton," said he. "Come, come, Monckton, it
is only a form."
Then he gave the detective a signal, and he stepped up to Monckton, and
emptied his waistcoat pockets of eighty-five sovereigns.
"There!" cried Walter Clifford, "There! there!"
"My own money, won at the Derby," said Monckton, coolly; "and only a part
of it, I am happy to say. You will find the remainder in banknotes.
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