Presently Giatron returned.
He laid on the desk and smoothed out carefully what was to all appearances
a ten-pound note.
"If you will examine that carefully, sir," he begged, "you will see that
it is the truth. That note, he is very well made; but he is not a good
Bank of England note."
Mr. Bundercombe slowly adjusted his glasses, placed the note in front of
him and smoothed it carefully with his large hand. "This is very
interesting," he murmured. "Allow me to make a close examination. I've
seen some high-class printing in my----"
Giatron started as though he were shot and jumped round toward me. With
unpardonable clumsiness I had upset my glass in leaning over to look at
the note.
"I'm awfully sorry!" I exclaimed, glancing ruefully at my trousers. "Would
you give me a napkin quickly?"
Giatron hastened to the door of the office and called to a passing waiter.
The napkin was soon procured and I rubbed myself dry. The restaurant
keeper returned to the desk at Mr. Bundercombe's side.
"All I can say," Mr. Bundercombe declared, as he drew away from the note,
which he had been examining, "is that I do not wonder you were deceived,
Mr. Giatron. This note is the most perfect imitation I have ever seen in
my life.
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