During that day and the previous two days, what with a monster Y.M.C.A. fête then in progress, and what with the weather, over a million shillings had been taken at the turnstiles. Now, a new shilling weighs eighty-seven grains, and about seven thousand average current shillings go to the hundredweight. A million shillings, or fifty thousand pounds in silver, will weigh, therefore, something like seven tons. Nearly the whole of this treasure had already started on its way to the famous vaults of the London and West-End Bank; only a few coffers remained. But there was, in addition, about ten thousand pounds in gold, which weighed about a couple of hundredweight, and it was chiefly for this gold that the last automobile was waiting. “Seven coffers of silver, Mr. Gloucester,” said the clerk; “two of gold.” “I shall be ready with the others in a few minutes,” replied Mr. Gloucester. “Then I’ll be making out the check-sheets,” said the clerk. “Do so,” said Mr. Gloucester, who was a formal old person, and wore steel-rimmed spectacles. And he continued his weighing of the gold. At this interesting and dazzling juncture, the unique door of the apartment, an affair of solid Bessemer steel, swung slowly on its hinges, and disclosed the figure of a man in a blue suit, with grey hair under his soft hat. Mr. Gloucester, being just a little short-sighted and just a little hard of hearing, neither saw nor heard the visitor. Nor did Mr. Ilam, who was actually within the safe, measuring its-shelves. But the bank-clerk, who was quite close to the door, most decidedly did see the man. And the clerk started, whether with fear, surprise, or mere nervousness, will probably never be known. The man shut the door. “What----” began the clerk. “Go to the other end of the room,” said the man commandingly. “Mr. Ilam!” the clerk called out respectfully, alarmed. “Go to the other end of the room,” repeated the man.’ The clerk perceived then that he had a revolver. Mr. Gloucester also perceived the man and his revolver, and Mr. Ilam came out of the safe rather like a jack out of a box. CHAPTER XX--What Jetsam Wanted Hullo, Jos! said the intruder in a light, careless and rather scornful tone. It was a stroke of genius on his part to address Mr. Ilam as “Jos.” That curt and familiar monosyllable, directed like a bullet at the formidable Ilam, the august President of the City, made such an impression upon both Mr. Gloucester and the L. and W. E. Bank-clerk that they took no part whatever in the immediately subsequent proceedings. They were astounded into silence. They trembled lest lightning should descend and utterly destroy the intruder. And Ilam himself was plainly at a loss. He was about to say to the intruder: “You have no right to speak to me in such a way,” and to order him out of the place, when the ridiculousness of protesting and the futility of ordering presented themselves vividly to his mind. Besides, there was the revolver.