to the
manager's private house, and tell him exactly everything that's
transpired--I shall tell him Mrs. Ralston's and my own suspicions, and I
shall ask him where the money is. Do you understand that?"

"The proper course to adopt!" said Mrs. Ralston. "The one thing to do. It
must be done!"

"Oh, very well--then in that case I suppose I'd better go with you," said
Mr. Portlethorpe. "Of course, it's no use going to the bank--they'll be
closed; but we can, as you say, go privately to the manager. And we shall
be placed in a very unenviable position if Sir Gilbert Carstairs turns up
with a perfectly good explanation of all this mystery."

Mr. Lindsey pointed a finger at me.

"He can't explain that!" he exclaimed. "He left that lad to drown! Is
that attempted murder, or isn't it? I tell you, I'll have that man in the
dock--never mind who he is! Hugh, pass me the railway guide."

It was presently settled that Mr. Portlethorpe and Mr. Lindsey should go
off to Newcastle by the next train to see the bank manager. Mr. Lindsey
insisted that I should go with them--he would have no hole-and-corner
work, he said, and I should tell my own story to the man we were going
to see, so that he would know some of the ground of our suspicion. Mrs.
Ralston supported that; and when Mr. Portlethorpe remarked that we were
going too fast, and were working up all the elements of a fine scandal,
she tartly remarked that if more care had been taken at the beginning,
all this would not have happened.

We found the bank manager at his private house, outside Newcastle, that
evening. He knew both my companions personally, and he listened with
great attention to all that Mr. Lindsey, as spokesman, had to tell; he
also heard my story of the yacht affair. He was an astute, elderly man,
evidently quick at sizing things up, and I knew by the way he turned to
Mr. Portlethorpe and by the glance he gave him, after hearing everything,
that his conclusions were those of Mr. Lindsey and Mrs. Ralston.

"I'm afraid there's something wrong, Portlethorpe," he remarked quietly.
"The truth is, I've had suspicions myself lately."

"Good God! you don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe. "How, then?"

"Since Sir Gilbert began selling property," continued the bank manager,
"very large sums have been paid in to his credit at our bank, where,
previous to that, he already had a very considerable balance. But at
the present moment we hold very little--that is, comp