One morning a well-dressed gentleman of aristocratic bearing accompanied by his man-servant entered a jeweller's shop in Bond Street in London.
The gentleman wore his right arm in a sling. He began to examine the rings and when, he had selected a couple of rings to the value of one thousand pounds, he put his hand into his breast pocket, as he wished to pay for the rings at once.
"Oh, hang it! I must have left my wallet at home. Here, Daniel," he said to his servant, "take the car, drive back to my wife and ask her to give you the money. Oh, Mr. ... just oblige me with a sheet of notepaper to write a few lines, please."
The jeweller at once complied with the request, and the gentleman tried to write, but found it difficult, as his hand was bandaged and quite painful.
"No, I cannot manage it. Would you please write it for me?"
So the jeweller took the pen and paper and at the dictation of the gentleman wrote:
"Kindly send me a thousand pounds via bearer — Theophilus."
"What a strange ccvncidence," observed the jeweller. "My name is Theophilus, too."
"Ah, I am glad to hear it," replied the gentleman while his man took the note and left by the swanky car outside the door.
The jeweller and the gentleman waited for a very long time, until the latter began to yawn and show signs of impatience, and after a further wait he said:
"I must go home and see what has caused the delay. Keep the rings for time being, and tomorrow I shall call for them and take them away."
When the jeweller arrived home in the evening he told his wife that he did a fair stroke of business with a strange gentleman.
"Indeed?" his wife replied. "But why then did you send home for a thousand pounds?"
"What? I ... didn't ..."
"What on earth's the matter with you?" interrupted his wife. "That's your handwriting, isn't it? And that's your notepaper, isn't it?"
The jeweller fainted.
thank you
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