They sat down in the American Bar, and a colored waiter in a white linen suit brought them whisky and Apollinaris in tall tumblers.
“Listen,” Nesbitt said. “My brain is on the reel still. I went back to my office, and if it hadn’t been for the little girl, I should have brought a revolver by the way. Old Johnny there waiting to see me, no end of a swell, Phillson, the uptown lawyer. He went straight for me.
“‘Been dealing in Hardwells?’ he asked.
“I nodded.
“‘Short, eh?’
“‘Six hundred shares,’ I answered. There was no harm in telling him for the Street knew well enough.
“‘Bad job,’ he said. ‘How much does Wingrave want?’
“‘Shares at par,’ I answered. ‘It comes to close on fifty-seven thousand six hundred dollars.’
“‘I’m going to find you the money,’ he said.
“Then I can tell you the things in my office began to swim. I’d an idea somehow that he was there as a friend, but nothing like this. I couldn’t answer him.