"Very good," said Mr. Weasel, when he had quite finished. "That's your
story, is it?"
"It's the truth, Sir."
"Hush! my dear young Sir. We shall have enough of that--the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth--a fortnight hence. What you and
I have to consider are the probabilities. Why did you go to Plymouth,
more than any other place, to change these notes?"
"Because I had heard there was a Miners' Bank there, and Trevethick had
mentioned the notes of that company as being as good, in his opinion, as
those of the Bank of England. I thought it would be easier to get the
Mining notes in exchange for those of the Bank of England, than others
of the same bank."
"The check which you showed this Trevethick was not, then, a _bona fide_
piece of paper, eh?"
"It was not," said Richard, casting down his eyes.
"Very good," answered the lawyer, so cheerfully that you would have
thought his client had cleared himself of the least suspicion upon
_that_ score, at all events. "Now, where did you get it?"
"My mother sent me a blank check, at my request, and I filled it in."
"That check is destroyed, you say--you burned it, of course?"
"No; I tore it up, and threw it out of the window of the carriage."
"The devil you did!" said Mr. Weasel, in perturbation.
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