Ten o'clock struck, and the bank shutters remained up. Five minutes more, and the watcher was in agony. Three minutes more, and up came a boy of sixteen whistling, and took down the shutters with an indifference that amazed him. “Bless your handsome face!” said Maxley with a sigh of relief. He now summoned up all his firmness, and, having recourse to an art in which these shrewd rustics are supreme, made his face quite inexpressive, and so walked into the bank the every-day Maxley externally, but within a volcano ready to burst if there should be the slightest hesitation to pay him his money. “Good morning, Mr. Maxley,” said young Skinner. “Good morning, sir.” “What can we do for you?” “Oh, I'll wait my turn, sir.” “Well, it is your turn now, if you like.” “How much have you got of mine, if you please, sir?” “Your balance? I'll see. Nine hundred and four pounds.” “Well, sir, then, if _you_ please, I'll draa _that._” (“It has come!” thought Skinner.) “What, going to desert us?” he stammered. “No,” said the other, trembling inwardly, but not moving a facial muscle: “it is only for a day or two, sir.” “Ah! I see, going to make a purchase. By-the-bye, I believe Mr. Hardie means to offer you some grounds he is buying outside the town: will that suit your book?” “I dare say it will, sir.” “Then perhaps you will wait till our governor comes in?” “I have no objection.” “He won't be long. Fine weather for the gardens, Mr. Maxley.” “Moderate, sir. I'll take my money if you please. Counting it out, that will help pass the time till Muster Hardie comes. You han't made away with it?” “What d'ye mean, sir?” “Hardies bain't turned thieves, be they?” “Are you mad or intoxicated, Mr. Maxley?” 'Neither, sir; but I wants my own, and I wool have it too: so count out on this here counter, or I'll cry the town round that there door.” “Henry, score James Maxley's name off the books,” said Skinner with cool dignity. But when he had said this, he was at his wits' end: there were not nine hundred pounds of hard cash in the bank, nor anything like it. CHAPTER XVI SKINNER--called “young” because he had once had a father on the premises--was the mole-catcher. The feelings with which he had now for some months watched his master grubbing were curiously mingled. There was the grim sense of superiority every successful detective feels as he sees the watched one working away unconscious of the eye that is on him; but this was more than balanced by a long habit of obsequious reverence. When A. has been looking up to B. for thirty years, he cannot look down on him all of a sudden, merely because he catches him falsifying accounts. Why, Man is a cooking animal: bankrupt Man especially.