Justice. Galsworthy John

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 the partners' room] Now, you really mustn't – we can't have anybody just now.

      RUTH. Not for a minute, sir?

      COKESON. Reely! Reely! I can't have it. If you want him, wait about; he'll be going out for his lunch directly.

      RUTH. Yes, sir.

      WALTER, entering with the cashier, passes RUTH as she leaves the outer office.

      COKESON. [To the cashier, who resembles a sedentary dragoon] Good-morning. [To WALTER] Your father's in there.

      WALTER crosses and goes into the partners' room.

      COKESON. It's a nahsty, unpleasant little matter, Mr. Cowley. I'm quite ashamed to have to trouble you.

      COWLEY. I remember the cheque quite well. [As if it were a liver] Seemed in perfect order.

      COKESON. Sit down, won't you? I'm not a sensitive man, but a thing like this about the place – it's not nice. I like people to be open and jolly together.

      COWLEY. Quite so.

      COKESON. [Buttonholing him, and glancing toward the partners' room] Of course he's a young man. I've told him about it before now – leaving space after his figures, but he will do it.

      COWLEY. I should remember the person's face – quite a youth.

      COKESON. I don't think we shall be able to show him to you, as a matter of fact.

      JAMES and WALTER have come back from the partners' room.

      JAMES. Good-morning, Mr. Cowley. You've seen my son and myself, you've seen Mr. Cokeson, and you've seen Sweedle, my office-boy. It was none of us, I take it.

      The cashier shakes his head with a smile.

      JAMES. Be so good as to sit there. Cokeson, engage Mr. Cowley in conversation, will you?

      He goes toward FALDER'S room.

      COKESON. Just a word, Mr. James.

      JAMES. Well?

      COKESON. You don't want to upset the young man in there, do you? He's a nervous young feller.

      JAMES. This must be thoroughly cleared up, Cokeson, for the sake of Falder's name, to say nothing of yours.

      COKESON. [With Some dignity] That'll look after itself, sir. He's been upset once this morning; I don't want him startled again.

      JAMES. It's a matter of form; but I can't stand upon niceness over a thing like this – too serious. Just talk to Mr. Cowley.

      He opens the door of FALDER'S room.

      JAMES. Bring in the papers in Boulter's lease, will you, Falder?

      COKESON. [Bursting into voice] Do you keep dogs?

      The cashier, with his eyes fixed on the door, does not answer.

      COKESON. You haven't such a thing as a bulldog pup you could spare me, I suppose?

      At the look on the cashier's face his jaw drops, and he turns to see FALDER standing in the doorway, with his eyes fixed on COWLEY, like the eyes of a rabbit fastened on a snake.

      FALDER. [Advancing with the papers] Here they are, sir!

      JAMES. [Taking them] Thank you.

      FALDER. Do you want me, sir?

      JAMES. No, thanks!

      FALDER turns and goes back into his own room. As he shuts the door JAMES gives the cashier an interrogative look, and the cashier nods.

      JAMES. Sure? This isn't as we suspected.

      COWLEY. Quite. He knew me. I suppose he can't slip out of that room?

      COKESON. [Gloomily] There's only the window – a whole floor and a basement.

      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.

      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?

      JAMES. [Turning to him suddenly with the cheque held out] You know this cheque, Falder?

      FALDER. No, sir.

      JADES. Look at it. You cashed it last Friday week.

      FALDER. Oh! yes, sir; that one – Davis gave it me.

      JAMES. I know. And you gave Davis the cash?

      FALDER. Yes, sir.

      JAMES. When Davis gave you the cheque was it exactly like this?

      FALDER. Yes, I think so, sir.

      JAMES. You know that Mr. Walter drew that cheque for nine pounds?

      FALDER. No, sir – ninety.

      JAMES. Nine, Falder.

      FALDER. [Faintly] I don't understand, sir.

      JAMES. The suggestion, of course, is that the cheque was altered; whether by you or Davis is the question.

      FALDER. I – I

      COKESON. Take your time, take your time.

      FALDER. [Regaining his impassivity] Not by me, sir.

      JAMES.