"Mr.Bartley, will you allow such an affront to be put on your old and faithful servant ?" "If you are innocent, why object ?" said young Clifford, spitefully, before Bartley could answer.
The remark struck Bartley, and he acted on it.
"Well, it is only fair to Mr.Bolton," said he.

"Come, come, Monckton, it is only a form." Then he gave the detective a signal, and he stepped up to Monckton, and emptied his waistcoat pockets of eighty-five sovereigns.
"There!" cried Walter Clifford, "There! there!" "My own money, won at the Derby," said Monckton, coolly; "and only a part of it, I am happy to say.

You will find the remainder in banknotes." The detective found several notes.
Bartley examined the book and the notes.

The Derby! He was beginning to doubt this clerk, who attended that meeting on the sly.

However, he was just, though no longer confiding.
"I am bound to say that not one of the numbered notes is here." The detective was now examining Monckton's overcoat.