“He seems,” Sponley went on slowly, “to be pretty thoroughly in your niece’s confidence--” “We’d better leave Miss Haselridge out of the discussion entirely,” said John. At that moment Sponley began to wonder whether he had not made a mistake in leaving Dick so completely out of his accounting. He had hardly so much as looked at her. He had thought himself familiar with every influence which had a bearing on John Bagsbury; but certainly he had never considered her in such a connection--this pretty girl, just out of college, who liked to pretend that she was interested in the banking business. “All right,” said Sponley, “that was just a chance idea of mine; take it for what it’s worth. But that isn’t what I’ve come to talk about. I want to advise you to let go of Pickering.” “You mean not to let him have any more money?” “No, I mean to get back what you’ve already loaned him, and get it back quick--to-morrow, if possible.” He paused. “Well, go on,” said the Banker; “let’s have the rest of it.” “I say to-morrow, because to-morrow will be your last chance. Pickering’s as good as busted.” “We’re on the wrong tack altogether,” said John. “Don’t you see we can’t get anywhere without straight talk? You know perfectly well that it was Pickering himself who knocked the bottom out of September lard, and you know why he did it.” “I wasn’t referring to that, and I am giving you straight talk, as you say. We know each other too well to try any sort of bluff. The market’s going to take another tumble to-morrow, and it won’t be any of Pickering’s doing, then. Lard’s as sure to drop to-morrow as the sun is to rise, and we, the bank, that is, want to stand from under.” There was no response from the Banker, and Sponley looked at him. The face in the shadow told him nothing, nor the attitude, but at last John spoke:-- “You puzzle me,” he said. “I still don’t know where you stand. You come, you say, in the interest of the bank, with information that is vital, and yet you don’t give it to me. I loaned Pickering money on what I considered good security. You want me to try to get the money back on the strength of what may be just a guess of yours. I can’t put my judgment into another man’s hands.” “It’s not a guess,” Sponley spoke almost eagerly. “I know it.” “Then,” said John Bagsbury, “if your warning is in good faith, tell me how you know it.” “I know it, because I’m going to bust him myself.” “Can you do it?” “Yes.” “Without the help you want me to give you?” “Yes.” “Can you do it if I back up Pickering just as I would any other customer?” Again the unqualified affirmative. And again the Banker was silent. Had he expressed doubt or even positive conviction that Sponley was wrong, had he shown righteous indignation and spoken of treachery, the Bear’s part would have been easier. He showed nothing; whether he was determined, or afraid, or in doubt, Sponley could only guess.