Produced by Jim Weiler
A ROCK IN THE BALTIC
By Robert Barr,
1906
CHAPTER I --THE INCIDENT AT THE BANK
IN the public room of the Sixth National Bank at Bar Harbor in Maine,
Lieutenant Alan Drummond, H.M.S. “Consternation,” stood aside to give
precedence to a lady. The Lieutenant had visited the bank for the
purpose of changing several crisp white Bank of England notes into the
currency of the country he was then visiting. The lady did not appear
to notice either his courtesy or his presence, and this was the more
remarkable since Drummond was a young man sufficiently conspicuous even
in a crowd, and he and she were, at that moment, the only customers in
the bank. He was tall, well-knit and stalwart, blond as a Scandinavian,
with dark blue eyes which he sometimes said jocularly were the colors of
his university. He had been slowly approaching the cashier’s window with
the easy movement of a man never in a hurry, when the girl appeared at
the door, and advanced rapidly to the bank counter with its brass wire
screen surrounding the arched aperture behind which stood the cashier.
Although very plainly attired, her gown nevertheless possessed a charm
of simplicity that almost suggested complex Paris, and she wore it
with that air of distinction the secret of which is supposed to be the
exclusive property of French and American women.
The young man saw nothing of this, and although he appreciated the
beauty of the girl, what struck him at that instant was the expression
of anxiety on her face, whose apparently temporary pallor was
accentuated by an abundance of dark hair. It seemed to him that she had
resolutely set herself a task which she was most reluctant to perform.
From the moment she entered the door her large, dark eyes were fixed
almost appealingly on the cashier, and they beheld nothing else.
Drummond, mentally slow as he usually was, came to the quick conclusion
that this was a supreme moment in her life, on which perhaps great
issues depended. He saw her left hand grasp the corner of the ledge in
front of the cashier with a grip of nervous tension, as if the support
thus attained was necessary to her. Her right hand trembled slightly as
she passed an oblong slip of paper through the aperture to the calm and
indifferent official.
“Will you give me the money for this check?” she asked in a low voice.
The cashier scrutinized the document for some time in silence. The
signature appeared unfamiliar to him.
“One moment, madam,” he said quietly, and retired to a desk in the back
part of the bank, where he opened a huge book, turned over some leaves
rapidly, and ran his finger down a page. His dilatory action seemed to
increase the young woman’s panic. Her pallor increased, and she swayed
slightly, as if in danger of falling, but brought her right hand to the
assistance of the left, and so steadied herself against the ledge of the
cashier’s counter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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