"Then get it up at once, before opening hours, and save all the bother of questions," commanded Joseph. "And if people do come asking questions—as some of them will!—tell them not to bother themselves—nor us. We don't want to waste our time interviewing fools all the morning."
Neale took the poster and went out, with no further remark. And presently the junior clerk, with the aid of a few wafers, fixed the announcement in the window which looked out on the Market-Place, and people began to gather round and to read it, and, after the usual fashion of country-born folk, then went away to talk about it. In half an hour it was known in every shop and tavern parlour in Scarnham Market-Place that despite the town-crier's announcement, and the wild rumours of the night before, Chestermarke's Bank was all right, and Chestermarkes were already speaking of Horbury in the past tense—he was (wherever he might be) no longer the manager of that ancient concern; he was the late manager.
At ten o'clock Superintendent Polke, bluff and cheery as usual, and Detective-Sergeant Starmidge, eyeing his new surroundings with appreciative curiosity, strolled round the corner from the police-station and approached the bank. Half a dozen loungers were gathered before the window, reading the poster; the two police officials joined them and also read—in silence. Then, with a look at each other, they turned into the door which Patten had just opened. Neale hurried to the counter to meet them.
"Well, Mr. Neale," said Polke, as if he had called
