"Then, I shall still go on searching for the fellow I want, but your description seems to promise success."
"That is true. We will send you by hand to your hotel, a formal letter as a reference, and guide, and," rising, in order to close the interview, "we shall hear from you no doubt shortly."
"Yes, without fail," said Mallender, with emphasis. "Don't think me rude, but I hope I shall have no occasion to call again, and now I will wish you good day."
Mallender's next visit was to the bank; here he asked for a statement of his account, and to know the amount of his balance. After a considerable delay, a pale, smart-looking young man, came forward, and said:
"Your balance in hand, Captain Mallender, is exactly Seventy-two Pounds, Eighteen Shillings, and Nine-pence."
These tidings so startled the enquirer, that for a moment he stood speechless. Of course, on second thoughts there was some monstrous mistake; he must have at least five or six hundred to his credit. But no, the practical, clear-headed clerk, produced the big book, and went steadily through the items. To each of these Mallender assented with a sinking heart.
"You see," said the accountant, "nothing has come in since the first of January,—and you have made some large payments."
This was the truth. How the money had melted! He glanced over the column of figures. One hundred and fifty to Shumilal and Co., one hundred for Miss Sim, fifty lent to Wylie, fifty for a gold bag, one hundred for outlay of sorts; subscriptions, wages, hire of motor, presents, tips, one hundred ditto, ditto. Yes, the account was all right, or rather—all wrong.
A letter handed to him did not serve to raise his spirits. It came from his solicitors at home, and in neat type-writing, imparted this information:
"The firm of contractors who are now repairing Mallender, require a final advance, otherwise the work cannot be continued. Times are bad in the building trade."