Chapter XX. Montague Nevitt Finesses

Guy rose mechanically, and followed him to the door. Nevitt still held the forged cheque in his hand. Guy thought of it so to himself in plain terms, as the forgery. Yet somehow, he knew not why, he followed that sinister figure through the passage and down the stairs like one irresistibly and magnetically drawn forward. Why, he couldn't let any one go forth upon the streets of London--with the cheque he himself had forged in his hands--unwatched and unshadowed.

Nevitt called a cab; and jumped in, and beckoned him. Guy, still as in a dream, jumped after him hastily.

"To the London and West Country Bank, in Lombard Street," Nevitt called through the flap.

The cab drove off; and Guy Waring leaned back, all trembling and irresolute, with his head on the cushions.

At last, after a short drive, during which Guy's head seemed to be swimming most dreamily, they reached the bank--that crowded bank in Lombard Street. Nevitt thrust the cheque bodily into his companion's hand.

"Take it in, now, and cash it," he said with an authoritative air. "Do you hear what I say? Take it in--and cash it."

Guy, as if impelled by some superior power, walked inside the door, and presented it timidly.

The cashier glanced at the sum inscribed on the cheque with no little surprise.

"It's a rather large amount, Mr. Waring," he said, scanning his face closely. "How will you take it?"

Guy trembled violently from head to foot as he answered, in a voice half choked with terror, "Bank of England hundreds, if you please. It is a large sum, as you say; but I'm placing it elsewhere."

The cashier retired for a few minutes; then he returned once more, bringing a big roll of notes, and a second clerk by his side--just to prevent mistake--stared hard at the customer. "All square," the second clerk said, in a half-whispered aside. "It's him right enough."

And the cashier proceeded to count out the notes with oft-wetted fingers.

Guy took them up mechanically, like a drunken man, counted them over one by one in a strange, dazed way; and staggered out at last to the cab to Nevitt.

Nevitt leaned forward and took the bundle from his hands. Guy stood on the pavement and looked vacantly in at him! "That's right," Nevitt said, clasping the bundle tight. "Rio Negro Diamond and Sapphire Mines, cabby, 127, Knatchbull Street, Cheapside."

The cabman whipped up his horse and disappeared round the corner, leaving Guy Waring alone--like a fool--on the pavement.

For a minute or two the dazed and dazzled journalist stood there awaking by degrees as from some trance or stupefaction. At first he could only stand still and gaze vacantly down the street after the disappearing cab; but as his brain cleared slowly, and the mist that hung over his mind