"He hasn't been civil enough to leave his address. I fancy he don't want his friends to have to trouble themselves by writing to him. Nobody seems to know what's become of him."
"New York," suggested Mr. Croll.
"They seem to think not. They're too hospitable in New York for Mr. Cohenlupe just at present. He's travelling private. He's on the continent somewhere,—half across France by this time; but nobody knows what route he has taken. That'll be a poke in the ribs for the old boy;—eh, Croll?" Croll merely shook his head. "I wonder what has become of Miles Grendall," continued the clerk.
"Ven de rats is going avay it is bad for de house. I like de rats to stay."
"There seems to have been a regular manufactory of Mexican Railway scrip."
"Our governor knew noding about dat," said Croll.
"He has a hat full of them at any rate. If they could have been kept up another fortnight they say Cohenlupe would have been worth nearly a million of money, and the governor would have been as good as the bank. Is it true they are going to have him before the Lord Mayor about the Pickering title-deeds?" Croll declared that he knew nothing about the matter, and settled himself down to his work.
In little more than two hours he was followed by Melmotte, who thus reached the City late in the afternoon. It was he knew too late to raise the money on that day, but he hoped that he might pave the way for getting it on the next day, which would be Thursday. Of course the first news which he heard was of the defection of Mr. Cohenlupe. It was Croll who told him. He turned back, and his jaw fell, but at first he said nothing. "It's a bad thing," said Mr. Croll.
"Yes;—it is bad. He had a vast amount of my property in his hands. Where has he gone?" Croll shook his head. "It never rains but it pours," said Melmotte. "Well; I'll weather it all yet. I've been worse than I am now, Croll, as you know, and have had a hundred thousand pounds at my banker's,—loose cash,—before the month was out."
"Yes, indeed," said Croll.