“Danger! I should think there was! More than danger, as I hear!” The Squire drummed for a moment with his fingers on the table. He was thinking not of the bank, or even of his loss, but of his nephew and the scandal that would not pass by him. But he would not refer to Arthur, and after a pause, “Well,” with an angry snort, “if that’s all you’ve come to tell me, you might have spared yourself—and me. I cannot say that your company’s very welcome, so if you please, we’ll dispense with compliments. If that’s all——” “But that’s not all, sir,” Clement interposed. “I wish I could have brought back the securities, or even the whole of the money.” The Squire laughed. “No doubt,” he said. “But I was too late to ensure that. The stock had already been transferred.” “So he was quick, too!” “And selling for cash in the middle of such a crisis he had to accept a loss of seven per cent. on the current price. But he suggests that if you reinvest immediately, a half, at least, of this may be recovered, and the eventual loss need not be more than three or four hundred. I ought perhaps to have stayed in town to effect this, but I had to think of my father, who was alone at the bank. However, I did what I could, sir, and——” Clement paused; the Squire had uttered an exclamation which he did not catch. The old man turned a little in his chair so as to face the speaker. “Eh?” he said. “Do you mean that you’ve got any of the money—here?” “I’ve eleven thousand and a bit over,” Clement explained. “Five thousand in gold and the rest——” “What?” “Sir?” “Do you mean”—the Squire spoke haltingly, after a pause—he did not seem to be able to find the right words. “Do you mean that you’ve brought back the money?” “Not all. What I’ve told you, sir. There’s six thousand and odd in notes. The gold is in two bags in the chaise.” “Here?” “At the door, sir. I’ll bring it in.” “Ay,” said the Squire passively. “Bring it in.” Clement went out and returned, carrying in two small leather bags. He set them down at the Squire’s feet “There’s the gold, sir,” he said. “I’ve not counted it, but I’ve no doubt that it is right. It weighs a little short of a hundred pounds.” The old man felt the bags, then, standing up, he lifted them in turn a few inches from the floor. “What does a thousand pounds weigh?” he asked. “Between eighteen and nineteen pounds, sir.” “And the notes?” “I have them here.” Clement drew a thick packet from the pocket of his inner vest and put it into the Squire’s hands. “They’re Bank of England paper. They were short even at the bank, and wanted Bourdillon to take it in one-pound notes, but he stood out and got these in the end.”