LITMIR.BIZ

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Charing Cross who would perhaps change a cheque for me; there is a cheque-book at the office.”

      “Then that’s all right and settled. Mr. Stoneham, there’s been some juggling with the accounts in the office of the Board of Public Construction.”

      “What! a defalcation?” cried Stoneham eagerly.

      “No; merely a shifting round.”

      “Ah,” said the editor, in a disappointed tone.

      “Oh, you needn’t say ‘Ah.’ It’s very serious; it is indeed. The accounts are calculated to deceive the dear and confiding public, to whose interests all the daily papers, morning and evening, pretend to be devoted. The very fact of such deception being attempted, Mr. Stoneham, ought to call forth the anger of any virtuous editor.”

      “Oh, it does, it does; but then it would be a difficult matter to prove. If some money were gone, now–”

      “My dear sir, the matter is already proved, and quite ripe for your energetic handling of it; that’s what the fifty pounds are for. This sum will secure for you—to-night, mind, not to-morrow—a statement bristling with figures which the Board of Construction cannot deny. You will be able, in a stirring leading article, to express the horror you undoubtedly feel at the falsification of the figures, and your stern delight in doing so will probably not be mitigated by the fact that no other paper in London will have the news, while the matter will be so important that next day all your beloved contemporaries will be compelled to allude to it in some shape or other.”

      “I see,” said the editor, his eyes glistening as the magnitude of the idea began to appeal more strongly to his imagination. “Who makes this statement, and how are we to know that it is absolutely correct?”

      “Well, there is a point on which I wish to inform you before going any further. The statement is not to be absolutely correct; two or three errors have been purposely put in, the object being to throw investigators off the track if they try to discover who gave the news to the Press; for the man who will sell me this document is a clerk in the office of the Board of Public Construction. So, you see, you are getting the facts from the inside.”

      “Is he so accustomed to falsifying accounts that he cannot get over the habit even when preparing an article for the truthful Press?”

      “He wants to save his own situation, and quite rightly too, so he has put a number of errors in the figures of the department over which he has direct control. He has a reputation for such accuracy that he imagines the Board will never think he did it, if the figures pertaining to his department are wrong even in the slightest degree.”

      “Quite so. Then we cannot have the pleasure of mentioning his name, and saying that this honest man has been corrupted by his association with the scoundrels who form the Board of Public Construction?”

      “Oh, dear, no; his name must not be mentioned in any circumstances, and that is why payment is to be made in sovereigns rather than by bank cheque or notes.”

      “Well, the traitor seems to be covering up his tracks rather effectually. How did you come to know him?”

      “I don’t know him. I’ve never met him in my life; but it came to my knowledge that one of the morning papers had already made all its plans for getting this information. The clerk was to receive fifty pounds for the document, but the editor and he are at present negotiating, because the editor insists upon absolute accuracy, while, as I said, the man wishes to protect himself, to cover his tracks, as you remarked.”

      “Good gracious!” cried Stoneham, “I didn’t think the editor of any morning paper in London was so particular about the accuracy of what he printed. The pages of the morning sheets do not seem to reflect that anxiety.”

      “So, you see,” continued Miss Jennie, unheeding his satirical comment, “there is no time to be lost; in fact, I should be on my way now to where this man lives.”

      “Here we are at the office, and I shall just run in and write a cheque for fifty pounds, which we can perhaps get cashed somewhere,” cried the editor, calling the hansom to a halt and stepping out.

      “Tell the watchman to bring me a London Directory,” said the girl, and presently that useful guardian came out with the huge red volume, which Miss Baxter placed on her knees, and, with a celerity that comes of long practice, turned over the leaves rapidly, running her finger quickly down the H column, in which the name “Hazel” was to be found. At last she came to one designated as being a clerk in the office of the Board of Public Construction, and his residence was 17, Rupert Square, Brixton. She put this address down in her notebook and handed back the volume to the waiting watchman, as the editor came out with the cheque in his hand.

      The shrewd and energetic dealer in coins, whose little office stands at the exit from Charing Cross Station, proved quite willing to oblige the editor of the Evening Graphite with fifty sovereigns in exchange for the bit of paper, and the editor, handing to Miss Jennie the envelope containing the gold, saw her drive off for Brixton, while he turned, not to resume his game of dominoes at the café, but to his office, to write the leader which would express in good set terms the horror he felt at the action of the Board of Public Construction.

      CHAPTER III. JENNIE INTERVIEWS A FRIGHTENED OFFICIAL

      It was a little past seven o’clock when Miss Baxter’s hansom drove up to the two-storeyed house in Rupert Square numbered 17. She knocked at the door, and it was speedily opened by a man with some trace of anxiety on his clouded face, who proved to be Hazel himself, the clerk at the Board of Public Construction. “You are Mr. Hazel?” she ventured, on entering.

      “Yes,” replied the man, quite evidently surprised at seeing a lady instead of the man he was expecting at that hour; “but I am afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me; I am waiting for a visitor who is a few minutes late, and who may be here at any moment.”

      “You are waiting for Mr. Alder, are you not?”

      “Yes,” stammered the man, his expression of surprise giving place to one of consternation.

      “Oh, well, that is all right,” said Miss Jennie, reassuringly. “I have just driven from the office of the Daily Bugle. Mr. Alder cannot come to-night.”

      “Ah,” said Hazel, closing the door. “Then are you here in his place?”

      “I am here instead of him. Mr. Alder is on other business that he had to attend to at the editor’s request. Now, Mr. Hardwick—that’s the editor, you know–”

      “Yes, I know,” answered Hazel.

      They were by this time seated in the front parlour.

      “Well, Mr. Hardwick is very anxious that the figures should be given with absolute accuracy.”

      “Of course, that would be much better,” cried the man; “but, you see, I have gone thoroughly into the question with Mr. Alder already. He said he would mention what I told him to the editor—put my position before him, in fact.”

      “Oh, he has done so,” said Miss Baxter, “and did it very effectively indeed; in fact, your reasons are quite unanswerable. You fear, of course, that you will lose your situation, and that is very important, and no one in the Bugle office wishes you to suffer for what you have done. Of course, it is all in the public interest.”

      “Of course, of course,” murmured Hazel, looking down on the table.

      “Well, have you all the documents ready, so that they can be published at any time?”

      “Quite ready,” answered the man.

      “Very well,” said the girl, with decision; “here are your fifty pounds. Just count the money, and see that it is correct. I took the envelope as it was handed to me, and have not examined the amount myself.”

      She poured the sovereigns out on the table, and Hazel, with trembling fingers, counted them out two by two.

      “That is quite right,” he said, rising. He went to a drawer, unlocked it, and took out a long blue envelope.

      “There,”

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