"
The agent produced an order written on the note paper of the hotel.
Ted stared at it incredulously.
"It looks like my writing, but I didn't write it. I'll swear to that.
Look at this, Stella. Is that my hand?"
Stella looked at the paper studiously for a minute or two, then handed
it back.
"A casual look at it would deceive me, but you did not write it. It
lacks several of your individualisms, and has others that are not
yours."
"That is right. This order is a forgery. I did not write it. The
express-robber syndicate is getting bolder every minute. They'll come in
and steal you some day," Ted said to the agent. "Notify your company
that my car has been stolen, and that I want it restored to me."
"Great Scott!" was all the agent could say.
"What sort of looking chap was it that presented the order?" asked Ted.
"Well, he was an ordinary-looking chap. He had on a--"
"Checked suit?"
"Yes, sir. How did you know?"
"Checkers has come into his own at last," said Ted, turning to Stella.
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