CHAPTER XXXI.
The Perturbations of the Bank Manager.
The windows of the Kangaroo Bank were ablaze with light, although the town clock had struck eleven. It was the dolorous hour when the landlord of The Lucky Digger, obliged by relentless law, reluctantly turned into the street the topers and diggers who filled his bar.
Bare-headed, the nails of his right hand picking nervously at the fingers of his left, the manager of the Bank emerged from a side-door. He glanced up the dark street towards the great mountains which loomed darkly in the Cimmerian gloom.
“Dear me, dear me,” murmured he to himself, “he is very late. What can have kept him?” He glanced down the street, and saw the small crowd wending its way from the hostelry. “It was really a most dreadful storm, the most dreadful thunderstorm I ever remember.” His eye marked where the light from the expansive windows of the Bank illumined the wet asphalt pavement. “Landslips frequently occur on newly made tracks, especially after heavy rain. It’s a great risk, a grave risk, this transporting of gold from one place to another.”
“’Evenin’, boss. Just a little cheque for twenty quid. I’ll take it in notes.”
The men from The Lucky Digger had paused before the brilliantly lighted building.
“Give him a chance.... Let him explain.... Carn’t you see there’s a run on the Bank.”
“Looks bad.... Clerks in the street.... All lighted up at this time o’ night.... No money left.”