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John Hadfield met his fate with the heroism which great criminals invariably exhibit. Aged since his arrest, for he had been in prison nearly ten months, he looked at least fifty. In every respect he had become very different from the sprightly ‘Colonel Hope’ of the previous summer. When he alighted from the carriage at the shambles he seemed faint and exhausted, but this weakness was due to physical infirmity and not to fear. A feeble and piteous smile occasionally played over his white face. Yet none of the arrogance of pseudo-martyrdom marked his bearing, but his quiet resignation and reverent aspect won the pity of the vast crowd, bitterly hostile to him a short while before. It was remarked that he had still an air of distinction, and was neatly dressed; his jacket and silk waistcoat were black, and he wore fustian breeches and white thread stockings. Just before he was turned off he was heard to murmur, “My spirit is strong, though my body is weak.” We are told that he seemed to die in a moment without any struggle, and did not even raise his hands. An hour and a half later he was lying in a grave in St Mary’s Churchyard, for his request that he should be buried at Burgh-on-Sands was disregarded out of consideration for the pious memory of Edward I.

Were it not for his dastardly treatment of the women who gave him their love, the fate of John Hadfield would seem hard. He was not hanged for swindling John Crump out of £50 – which indeed the value of his carriage and its contents, left behind at Keswick, would have more than cancelled – but for attempting to swindle him under the fictitious name of Colonel Hope. Thus by assuming the character of another man he became entangled in one of the fine-spun meshes of the law, and was held guilty of an intention to defraud. Our great-grandfathers, who, with the assistance of Sir Alexander Thomson, could hang an old woman for stealing a few potatoes in a bread riot, thought it expedient also to kill a man who obtained £50 by telling a lie.

There is much truth in the proposition, which has been stated with such inaccuracy by De Quincey, that, but for his heartless conduct to Mary of Buttermere, John Hadfield might have escaped the gallows. It is probable that Mr Crump would have been loth to advertise himself as a credulous dupe, unless he had thought that it was his duty to give evidence against a heartless seducer. Parson Nicholson, also, would have had no reason to depart from the attitude he had taken up before he was aware that he had officiated at a bigamous marriage.

Notwithstanding that his career was marked by so many villainies, John Hadfield is in many respects an admirable rascal. Setting aside his behaviour towards women – if that is possible even for a moment – he played a part which required infinite tact and magnificent courage. Although occasionally he robbed a man who was not rich, yet until the crime of Buttermere such an occurrence was in the nature of an accident, and was rather the fault of the wronged one for putting himself in the path. Like Claude Duval, the Keswick impostor was in the main merciful towards the impecunious; not indeed for conscience sake, but because he believed that his rightful place was among the wealthy. A hunter of big game, dukes, members of Parliament, and prosperous merchants were his proper prey! And the man who could maintain a decent social position for twenty years, in spite of the heavy handicaps of poverty and lowly birth, and could compel those whom one of his class should have met only as a lackey to receive him on equal terms, was more than a common trickster. An insatiable love of pleasure robbed him of all foresight and prudence, or such a consummate liar might have climbed high. Even as he was – had an earl been his father – he might have gone down to posterity as one of the greatest diplomats the world has ever seen.

The career of Samuel Denmore Hayward, hanged at the Old Bailey for forgery on the 27th of November 1821, a picture of whom, dancing with ‘a lady of quality’ ornaments one version of the Newgate Calendar, is similar to that of the Keswick impostor. Both men seem to have had culture and address; each was distinguished for his social ambition, and both were famous for gallantry. With the exception of James Maclean, illustrious as the friend of Lady Caroline Petersham and little Miss Ashe, none of our rogues – not even William Parsons, the baronet’s son – have been such fine gentlemen.

Mary Robinson’s child was born early in June 1803, but did not survive its birth. Who can tell whether she wept over it; or if the words that came from the lips of her parents, when they heard of the death of her betrayer, did not seem a fitting epitaph – “God be thanked!” To avoid the gaze of curious travellers the unhappy girl was obliged for a period to leave her native place, and the shadow that had fallen upon her young life was not lifted for many years. Yet, brighter days were in store for the Maid of Buttermere. In the course of time she was wooed and won by a Cumberland ‘statesman’ named Richard Harrison, to whom she was married at Brigham Church in the May of 1808. Two of her sons, born at Buttermere, where she resided for a period after her marriage, died in infancy; but when her husband took her to his farm at ‘Todcrofts’ Caldbeck, beyond Skiddaw – where the Harrison family had been ‘statesmen’ for generations – she became the mother of five more children, three daughters and two sons, all of whom grew up and married. In later years it was remarked that her girls were as pretty as Mary had been herself when she was the Maid of the Inn. There is reason to believe that the rest of her career was happy and prosperous, and she lived tranquilly in her home at ‘Todcrofts’ where she died in her fifty-ninth year. The tombstone records that she passed away on the 7th of February 1837, while her husband survived her for sixteen years. Both rest in the churchyard that holds the ashes of immortal John Peel, who followed Richard Harrison to ‘the happy hunting-fields’ within a few months.

(I am indebted to the kindness of Mr Richard Greenup, of Beckstones, Caldbeck, one of Mary Robinson’s few surviving grandchildren, for much interesting information.)

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE HADFIELD CASE

I. Contemporary Tracts, etc

1. Report of the Proceedings on the Trial of John Hatfield, London. Printed for A. H. Nairne and B. Mace. Sold by Crosby and Company price 6d. 1803. Brit. Mus.

Although always spoken of as John Hatfield, the proper name of the ‘Keswick Impostor’ if the register of his baptism is an authority, was Hadfield.

2. The Life of Mary Robinson, the celebrated Beauty of Buttermere, Embellished with an elegant coloured Print. London. Printed by John Rhynd, 21 Ray Street, Cold Bath Fields. Sold by Crosby and Company, Paternoster Row. Price 1/. 1803. Brit. Mus.

3. The Life of John Hatfield, Printed and Published by Scott and Benson. Keswick. James Ivison, Market Place 1846. Brit. Mus.

II. Contemporary Newspapers and Magazines

Coleridge and the “Morning Post.”

Three accounts from the pen of Coleridge, which appeared in the Morning Post of October 11, October 22, and November 5 respectively, under the titles “Romantic Marriage” and “The Fraudulent Marriage,” find a place in Coleridge’s “Essays on His Own Times,” edited by his daughter. The late Mr H. D. Traill, in his monograph in the “English Men of Letters” series, has pointed out (note, p. 80) that “it is impossible to believe that this collection, forming as it does but two small volumes, and a portion of a third, is anything like complete.” It is not an unwarrantable assumption that two subsequent articles in the Morning Post, which appeared on November 20 and December 31, were written from Greta Hall, and that Coleridge therefore was responsible for the sobriquet “The Keswick Impostor.”

Sir Alexander Hope, brother of the third Earl Hopetoun, whom Hadfield impersonated, was not (as stated in the Dic. Nat. Biog.) the second but the eighth son of the second earl (vide Gentleman’s Magazine, 1837, part ii. p. 423).

Notes

Note I. —A Fortnight’s Ramble to the Lakes in Westmorland, Lancashire and Cumberland.

This book is reviewed at full length in the Gentleman’s Magazine, December 1792, pt. ii. pp. 1114-16, and in the European Magazine, December 1892, pt. ii. p. 436. The author, Joseph Budworth, who afterwards adopted his wife’s surname, Palmer, was a contributor to the former journal. Mary Robinson is described under the pseudonym ‘Sally of Buttermere’ The second edition of the Fortnight’s Ramble is reviewed in Gentleman’s Magazine, vol. lxvi. pt. i. p. 132, February 1796.

Note II. —A Revisit to Buttermere. Letter from a rambler to ‘Mr. Urban’ dated Buttermere, January 2 (vide Gentleman’s Magazine, January 1800, pp. 18-24).

This account was inserted in the third edition of A Fortnight’s Ramble, published in 1810. Joseph Budworth tells us that his second visit to Buttermere took place in January 1798.

Note III. —The Prelude, or Growth of a Poet’s Mind, by Wm. Wordsworth. Commenced 1799, finished 1805, published 1850. The Centenary edition of the works of Wm. Wordsworth. Six vols. Edited by E. Moxon, 1870.

Book VII., “Residence in London,” contains the famous reference to Mary of Buttermere and her story. Describing various dramas he has seen at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, the poet mentions one written around the story of Mary of Buttermere. Notes and Queries, Tenth Series, i. pp. 7, 70, 96.

Note IV. —The Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey. Edited by David Masson. A. & C. Black (1889-90); vide Literary Reminiscences, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, vol. ii. pp. 138-225.

The description of ‘The Hadfield Affair’ occupies pp. 174-184, and its numerous errors were the subject of a smart attack by a correspondent in Notes and Queries (First Series, vol. viii. p. 26), July 9, 1853.

Note V. —The Tourist’s New Guide. By William Green. In two volumes. Kendal (1819), vol. ii. pp. 180-5, 221. Seventy-eight Studies from Nature. By William Green. Longman (1809) p. 7.

The various descriptions of Mary Robinson are so conflicting that it is difficult, until one reads the impressions recorded from year to year by Wm. Green, to form an estimate of her personal appearance. It has been shown that Joseph Budworth, who first saw her in 1792, when she was fourteen, raves of her charms, and his second visit to Buttermere six years later did not disillusionise him. De Quincey, however, denies that she was beautiful, and does not praise even her figure. Yet he seems to be unconscious that he is describing, not the world-renowned ‘Maiden of Buttermere’ but a matron of thirty-five, who was now the wife of a prosperous farmer, and who had drank deeply of life’s sorrows. Mr Frederick Reed of Hassness, Buttermere, writing in August 1874 (Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, ii. 175), thirty-seven years after her death, states that “she was not the beauty she is represented to have been. She carried herself well, but got to be coarse-featured.” Still, as it is improbable that Mr Reed saw her till she was past her prime, his criticism is of little value. Sara Nelson, too, who was born during the year of Mary’s great trouble, did not meet her till her good looks had vanished. The Morning Post of October 11, 1802, contains the following description from the pen of Coleridge: – “To beauty in the strict sense of the word she has small pretensions, being rather gap-toothed and somewhat pock-fretten. But her face is very expressive, and the expression extremely interesting, and her figure and movements are graceful to a miracle. She ought indeed to be called the Grace of Buttermere rather than the Beauty.”

William Green tells us that he first saw Mary Robinson in 1791, the year before she was noticed by Captain Budworth. “At that time,” says he, “she was thirteen; and to an open, honest, and pleasant-looking face, then in the bloom of health, was added the promise of a good figure. Her garb, though neat, was rustic; but through it, even while so young, appeared indications of that mild dignity which was afterwards so peculiarly attractive.” He saw her next in 1794. “The infantine prettiness of thirteen was now matured into beauty; her countenance beamed with an indescribable sweetness, and the commanding graces of her fine person were equalled only by her innate good sense and excellent disposition.” After remarking that Captain Budworth’s panegyric seemed to have had no ill effect upon her mind, he proceeds: “Like some other mountain rustics, observed by the writer during his residence amongst these thinly populated wilds, Mary’s beauty was ripened at an early period; for this was, probably, the period of its perfection.” Green did not see her again till 1801. “She was then twenty-three, and though greatly admired for her general appearance and deportment, was on the whole infinitely less interesting than seven years before that time.” In 1805, the date of his next visit to Buttermere, he noted a further change. “Her features were pervaded by a melancholy meekness, but her beauty was fled, and with it, that peculiar elegance of person, for which she was formerly celebrated.” The next time the artist saw her was in 1810. “She was no longer the Beauty of Buttermere, but Mrs. Harrison, the bulky wife of a farmer, blessed with much good humour, and a ready utterance.” This was about the time when De Quincey saw her. Gillray’s sketch, November 15, 1802, corroborates Green’s description.

The Dictionary of National Biography gives the date of publication of The Tourist’s Guide as 1822. This is an error. It was published in 1819. The same monograph does not mention Green’s Survey of Manchester.

Note VI. —East Cheshire. By J. P. Earwaker, 1880, vol. ii. p. 136.

Gives the following extract from the register of baptisms at the parish church of Mottram-in-Longdendale: —

“1759. May 24, John, son of William Hadfield, and Betty, his Wife.” The church register confirms this reference.

John Hadfield’s father, who lived at Crodenbrook or Craddenbrook, Longden, must have been a man of means, for in 1760 he gave £20 to the poor.

Note VII. —Dic. Nat. Biog. This excellent sketch is only marred by the misspelling of Hadfield’s name, and the error in the date of his birth.

A FAMOUS FORGERY
THE CASE OF HENRY FAUNTLEROY, 1824

Part I. – The Criminal and his Crime

 
“Then, list, ingenuous youth…
And once forego your joy,
For your 176 instruction I display
The life of Fauntleroy.”
 

The Dirge of Fauntleroy, James Usher, 1824.

In the year 1792 – not one of the least disastrous in our annals of commerce – a small party of capitalists established a private bank under the name of Marsh, Sibbald & Company of Berners Street. The chief promoters – William Marsh, a naval agent, and James Sibbald of Sittwood Park, Berkshire, a retired official of Company John – were gentlemen of substance and position; while their managing partner, William Fauntleroy (previously employed at the famous house of Barclay), was a man of ability and business experience. Four years later, a younger son of Sir Edward Stracey, a Norfolk baronet, who married eventually the niece of Sir James Sibbald, was admitted into the firm.

Although never a bank of great resources, it appears to have made a fair return to its proprietors, and because of its connection with two baronets – one of whom became Sheriff of his county – it was regarded as a house of repute. In the spring of 1807 the firm received a severe blow through the death, when only in his fifty-eighth year, of the active partner, William Fauntleroy, in whom his colleagues placed implicit trust. Luckily, however, it was possible to fill his place, for his second son Henry, who had been employed as a clerk for seven years, although only twenty-two, was fit and eager for the post. None of the members of the firm were able to devote much attention to their bank, and thus, by a strange chance, the sole control was left in the hands of young Fauntleroy.

A remarkable man in every respect, this youthful manager, who carried with ease the burden of a great business on his shoulders. During the second decade of last century no figure was better known to those familiar with the west end of Oxford Street. Neat and elegant as Brummell, grave and industrious as Henry Addington, he seemed a model for all young men of commerce. Each morning at the same hour, the front door of No. 7 Berners Street, where he lived with his mother and sister, was thrown open, and the banker would step briskly into the adjoining premises – the counting-house of Messrs Marsh, Stracey, Fauntleroy & Graham. For he was a partner, also, as well as absolute manager, this solemn young gentleman whose air of ponderous respectability won the confidence of all.

At first sight, his cleanly-chiselled features seemed to express merely gentleness and simplicity, but a second glance would reveal a picture of resolution and strength. In fact, the massive brow, the broad cheekbones, and the firm, bold contour of the chin suggested a strange likeness – one that he sought to emphasise by the close-cropped hair made to droop over his forehead. It was his foible, this belief that he bore a resemblance to the great Buonaparte – whose bust adorned his mantelpiece – and the final catastrophe that overwhelmed him should discourage any latter-day egoist who prides himself upon a similar likeness.

Springing from an industrious Nonconformist stock (for his father had been the architect of his own fortunes, while his elder brother William, who fell a victim to consumption at an early age, was a youth full of the promise of genius), the temperament of Henry Fauntleroy appears to have been as complex a piece of mechanism as Nature ever enclosed within a human tenement. The love of toil, and an indomitable perseverance, seemed to be the guiding principles of his life. Not only did his fine courage never waver amidst the terrors of the financial tempest, through which he stood at the helm of his frail bark, but he gave no sign to his colleagues of the misgivings that must have lurked within his mind. For commerce had fallen upon evil days. On every side he beheld the crash and wreckage of his fellows, but, inspired by the confidence which only the knowledge of power can bestow, he resolved to continue his struggle against the storm. With a brain capable of grappling with huge balance-sheets, an almost superhuman dexterity in figures being his natural gift, the work of three men was the daily task of this Napoleon of commerce. Although the members of his firm were compelled to dive deeply into their pockets during these hazardous years, to meet losses occasioned by the failure of clients engaged in building speculations, the Berners Street Bank was handled so skilfully that it managed to weather the storm.

In spite of his vast abilities, there was nothing of bombast in Fauntleroy’s nature, nor did external evidence show that he was engaged in deadly warfare against the unpropitious fates. A gentle, unassuming man, with a quiet charm of address, he won universal regard from all with whom he came into contact. The gift of friendship, the infectious knack of social intercourse, was part of his character. Naturally, the circle in which he moved was composed of persons of refinement and, in some cases, of eminence in the commercial world. While his hand was ever open to the cry of distress, his board always had a place for those who had gained his esteem. All the leisure he could snatch seemed devoted to simple pleasures – a choice little dinner to a few kindred spirits, a holiday at his suburban villa, or a week-end visit to his house in Brighton. Though his earnest, florid face might be seen often beneath the hood of his smart cabriolet, this carriage was used principally in journeys between Berners Street and the City. In short, few business men in London were held in greater respect than this hard-working young banker, who was so like the Emperor Napoleon.

Yet there was another side to the picture. Although ostensibly he lived this simple and strenuous existence, a few bosom companions knew him in another guise. Unknown to the world, those week-end parties at his villa in the suburbs were tainted and ungodly. The sweet girl who sat at the head of his table as mistress of his home had lost her maiden innocence while her fresh young beauty was in its bud, lured by the sensuous Fauntleroy almost from school. All her pretty friends belonged to the same frail sisterhood, Cyprians beyond question, though modest perhaps in demeanour and speech. And with these ‘Kates and Sues’ of the town came Fauntleroy’s intimates, ‘Toms and Jerries’ unmistakably, though possibly only in travesty, becoming sober men once more in business hours.

Or one might have seen him driving past the fetid Pavilion at Brighton in his smart carriage, with its fawn-coloured lining, and have recognised in the shameless features of the flashy lady at his side the notorious ‘Corinthian Kate’ herself – in real life Mrs ‘Bang’ most ‘slap-up of ladybirds’ Then, again, at his luxurious seaside home in Western Place, with its conservatories and sumptuous billiard-room-draped as a facsimile of Napoleon’s travelling tent – his Kate’s dear friend Harriet Wilson, or other illustrious fair ones, would come to amuse his bachelor companions. Thus, in his leisure moments, the industrious Fauntleroy enjoyed secretly the life of an epicure and sensualist. Deep-buried in his soul the love of vice was ever present. “There only needed one thing to complete your equipage,” he writes, in plain double entente that indicates his ruling passion, to his friend Sheriff Parkins, “instead of the man at your side, a beautiful angel!”

Marriage had meant no sowing of wild oats to Henry Fauntleroy. A mystery surrounds his union to the daughter of a naval captain named John Young. It is known only that, although a son was born, the match from the first was an unhappy one, and an early separation took place. During the year of Waterloo a liaison with a married lady, who had a complacent or shortsighted husband, increased the habits of extravagance which in the end brought the banker to ruin. Later, the pretty young girl Maria Fox, who had been educated at a convent in France, consented to become the mistress of his suburban home. Thus the double life continued; while to those who knew him only in Berners Street, Mr Fauntleroy appeared the most righteous and respectable of men.

What was the nominal income of the young bank manager it is impossible to ascertain; but whatever the sum, it is certain that before very long his expenditure began to exceed his means. Probably he took the first step on his downward march during the year of the hejira to Elba. The strength and weakness of his character combined to make the position of Tantalus unendurable. Nothing seemed more certain than that the Berners Street house, which had never recovered from its unfortunate speculations, would return large profits if its capital was sufficient to meet all claims. Thus Fauntleroy decided not to take his colleagues into his confidence. Such a step would have caused the business to be wound up, and he would have lost his handsome salary. As one of his most severe critics has pointed out, “he had not enough moral courage to face the world in honest, brave poverty.” On the contrary, his courage took another form. Confident that he must conquer evil fortune, the self-reliant man resolved to commence a life-and-death battle with fate, alone and unaided. And his choice was the frightful expedient of forgery!

The methods of Fauntleroy were of unparalleled audacity. Then, as now, clients were in the habit of placing the certificates of their securities in the hands of their bankers for safe custody. So, by boldly forging the signature of the proprietor upon a power of attorney, he was able to sell any particular investment that he desired. Naturally, his depredations were confined to Government securities – Consols, Long Annuities, Exchequer Bills – and thus in effecting the fraudulent transfers his negotiations were with the Bank of England. For a period of almost ten years this incomparable swindler maintained the credit of his house in this manner, selling stocks belonging to his clients to the value of hundreds of thousands of pounds. As the proprietors received their dividends as regularly as ever – for Fauntleroy took care that their pass-books were credited with the half-yearly payments – they never knew that their investments had been abstracted. On the death of an owner the stolen stock was replaced, and thus the trustees were unaware of the theft. So the frauds went on, each forgery being shrouded by another, until the total deficit of the Berners Street Bank exceeded half a million!

Narrow escapes were inevitable. On one occasion he was handing over a power of attorney for the transfer of stock to one of the clerks in the Consols Office at the Bank of England, when the person whose name he had forged entered the room. Yet Fauntleroy’s aplomb did not fail him. As soon as he perceived the new-comer, he requested the clerk to return the document, with the excuse that he wished to correct an omission. Then, having secured the paper, he went to greet the friend whom he was about to rob, and they strolled out of the bank together. Another day, one of his lady clients instructed a London broker to sell some stock for her. Finding no such investment registered in her name, the man called at Berners Street to make inquiries. To his surprise the plausible banker informed him that the lady had already desired him to effect the sale. “And here,” continued the smiling Fauntleroy, producing a number of Exchequer bills, “are the proceeds.” Although his customer protested that she had never authorised the transaction, the matter was allowed to drop. While a friend was chatting in his private office he is said to have been imitating his signature, which he took out to the counting-house before his companion had departed. One of the last occasions when he visited the Bank of England was on the 5th of January, the day on which Thurtell and Hunt were tried for the Gillshill murder. While the clerk was crediting the dividend warrants due to his firm, the banker conversed about the crime. It was noted as a strange coincidence that the same clerk was one of the witnesses against him.

One day in September 1824, Mr J. D. Hulme, an official of the Custom House, wishing to examine a list of investments belonging to an estate of which he had become a trustee, paid a visit to the Bank of England. To his amazement he found that a sum of £10,000 in Consols was missing, and inquiry proved that the stock had been sold by the Berners Street manager under a power of attorney. On the advice of Mr Freshfield, solicitor of the bank, an application was made to Mr Conant of Marlborough Street, who was induced to grant a warrant for the arrest of the suspected man. At last the wily Fauntleroy had been caught napping; for although he was aware that there was a risk of exposure, and had made preparations to reinvest the stolen Consols, he had not yet been able to complete the transaction.

During the whole of Thursday night, Samuel Plank, chief-officer of Marlborough Street, finding that the banker was away from home, paraded Berners Street watching for his return. On the next morning, the 10th of September, at his usual hour, the grave, neatly dressed forger walked into his place of business. A mean trick marked the arrest. Mr Goodchild, the other co-trustee of the plundered estate, entered the counting-house a few moments before Plank, and proceeded into the private office, while the constable, pretending to cash a cheque, remained at the counter. When through the half-closed door of the inner room he saw that the victim and decoy were closeted together, the police-officer pushed past the astonished clerks, explaining that he wanted to speak to their employer. As Fauntleroy raised his eyes from his desk, and saw a warrant in the intruder’s hand, he realised that the visit of his friend was merely a device to place him in the hand of the law.

“Good God!” exclaimed the doomed man. “Cannot this business be settled?”

And tradition relates that he offered Plank a bribe of ten thousand pounds to allow him to escape. But the officer proved incorruptible, and soon the banker was standing in the presence of his astonished friend, Magistrate John Conant, who, though sore distressed, was compelled to commit him to Coldbath Fields prison.

“I alone am guilty,” cried the wretched Fauntleroy, in a burst of penitence. “My colleagues did not know!”

Like the great model whom he had striven to emulate, the vain man had found his Moscow. No longer was he the dandy banker of Berners Street, whose friendship had been sought by so many rich men from the City. The days of the lavish Corinthian, the associate of ‘bang-up pinks and bloods’ had passed away for ever, and he had become a criminal, standing beneath the shadow of the gallows!

While Mr Freshfield, with the aid of the constable, proceeded to execute his right of search, the members of the firm were summoned to town. At first the catastrophe was not appreciated to the full extent. On the following morning the bank opened its doors, and customers paid and drew their cheques as usual. However, before the close of the day the proprietors sent an announcement to the press that “in consequence of the extraordinary conduct of their partner,” they had determined for the present to suspend payment.

During the whole of Monday, the 13th of September, an excited throng took possession of Berners Street – neighbouring tradesmen trembling for their deposits; men from the City dismayed by the wildest rumours. A force of police was deemed necessary to prevent a riot. “Arrest of Mr Fauntleroy, the well-known banker!” The amazing tidings was upon every lip. A similar sensation had not been experienced in the memory of man. Since the days of Dr Dodd, half a century before, none so high in the social scale had been accused of such a crime. All the week, panic reigned in business houses. It was whispered that the defalcations would reach half a million pounds: that the greatest commercial scandal of the age would be disclosed. One day, it was said that Fauntleroy had arranged a plan of escape; on another, that he had cut his throat with a razor.