“Yes, sir––and––”
“Well?”
“Mr. Cass ’phoned before you got down this morning. He said the bank refused to extend the time on your note.”
Ketchim sank back limply into his chair, and his face became ashen.
“And here is the mail,” pursued the gentle Hermes, handing him a bundle of letters.
Ketchim roused himself with an effort. His eyes flashed angrily. “Do you know whether James has been selling any of his own Molino stock?” he asked.
“I––I believe he has, sir––a little.”
“Humph! And how much?”
“He sold some two hundred shares yesterday––I believe; to a Miss Leveridge.”