"Yes," rejoined the manager, "and the signature is very like my own;
but it is a forgery. Do you hear me, Babu, a forgery!"
To Pulin's disordered senses the room, with its furniture and
Mr. Henderson's angry face, seemed to be turning round. He gasped
out, "I'm ill, sir!" and sank into a chair. The manager mistook the
remains of fever for a tacit admission of guilt. He waited till Pulin
had regained a share of his wits and said gravely: "I did not think
that one whom I trusted with my cheque-book would act thus. Now you
will search your books, to see whether they contain a record of any
payment of the kind, and return with them in half an hour. But I must
warn you that if this forgery is traced to you, I shall have to call
in the police."
Pulin staggered back to his room in despair and observed that Gyanendra
and Lakshminarain, who sat at the next desk, were evidently enjoying
his mental agony. Alas! the books showed no trace of any payment
to Tarak Ghose & Co. He wrung his hands in great distress and
sat bewildered, until Ramtonu came to summon him to the manager's
tribunal. In the corridor Ramtonu glanced round, to make sure that
no one was within hearing, and said, "Don't be afraid, Babuji. You
did me a good turn, and I may be able to help you now.
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