“There is roguery and robbery on every side,” said he, in a husky voice. “That packet came from the South Sea Bank, Mr. Redgill, and should have contained bank notes.
“There is some one about that establishment who is a deep-dyed scoundrel! You have succeeded in getting a situation there lately, I hear,” said the old man with fiery eyes, “and perhaps you might guess his name, sir,!” he added, rising, and looking Phillip full in the face.
“When the bank opens in the morning, I shall inform the directors of this beautiful little trick, and seek redress. So you have imitated Charley Warbeck’s knavery already, eh, sir, I find? You will live to repent it.”
“It will avail you little to tell the bank of your suspicions, old man,” Phillip answered, with a triumphant scowling look, “for I beg leave to inform you that the South Sea Bank, of which I am a clerk, suspended payment at three o’clock this afternoon! Their notes are exactly worth nothing!”
Sir Andrew convulsively clasped his temples; his limbs trembled under him, and he sank upon the sofa, like an inanimate heap of humanity.
He groaned despairingly, and most furiously gave vent to his Christian feelings in a volley of oaths.
His wife, in tears, was kneeling by his side, and would fain console him.
Phillip Redgill, demon-like, and laughing, stalked forth into the street again, triumphant and beggared, yet a villain to the heart’s core!