But Rodd shook his head. “No, sir. It was in gold and Bank of England notes. I saw to that.” “Then I don’t understand it,” the banker decided. He sat pondering—the thing had taken hold of his mind. Was it a trick? Did they mean to draw out the amount next morning? But, no they would not risk the money, and he would stand no worse if they drew it. An enemy could not have done it, then. A friend? But such friends were rare and the sum was no trifle. The amount was more than he had received for his plate, the proceeds of which had already gone into the cash-drawer. He pondered. Meanwhile, “Another cup of tea?” Betty said politely. And as Rodd, avoiding her eyes, handed her his cup, “It’s so nice to hear of strangers helping us,” she continued with treacherous sweetness. “One feels so grateful to them.” Rodd muttered something, his mouth full of toast. “It’s so fine of them to trust us, when they don’t know how things are—as we do, of course. I think it is splendid of them,” Betty continued. “Father, you must bring them to me, some day, when all these troubles are over—that I may thank them.” But her father had risen to his feet. He was standing on the hearthrug, a queer look on his face. “I think that they are here now,” he said. “Rodd, why did you do it?” The cashier started. “I, sir? I don’t think I——” “Oh, you understand, man!” The banker was much moved. “You understand very well. Walker of Wolverhampton? You’ve a brother at Wolverhampton, I remember, though I don’t think I’ve ever seen him. This is your three hundred, and all you could add to it. My G—d, man——” Ovington was certainly moved, for he seldom swore, “but if we go you’ll lose it! You must draw it out before the bank opens to-morrow.” “No,” said Rodd, who had turned red. “I shall do nothing of the sort, sir. It’s as safe there as anywhere. I’m not afraid.” “But I don’t understand,” Betty said, looking from one to the other. It couldn’t be true. It could not be that she had made such a—a dreadful mistake! “There’s no Mr. Walker,” her father explained, “and no gentleman from Bretton. They are both Rodd. It’s his money.” “Do you mean——” in a very small voice. “I thought that Mr. Rodd took his money out!” “Only to put it in again when he thought that it might help us more. But we can’t have it. He mustn’t lose his money, all I expect that he——” “It came out of the bank,” Rodd said, “And there’s where it belongs, and I’m not going,” stubbornly, “to take it out. I’ve been here ten years—very comfortable, sir. And if the bank closed where’d I be? It’s my interest that it shouldn’t close.” The banker turned to the fire and put one foot on the fender as if to warm it. “Well, let it stay,” he said, but his voice was unsteady. “If we have to close you’ll have done a silly thing—that’s all. But if we don’t, you’ll not have been such a fool!” “Oh, we shall not close,” Rodd boasted, and he gulped down his tea, his ears red.