General Wilson threw himself back in his chair with an air of marvelous self-importance.
"Hang it, man!" he cried. "Why don't you ask me? You don't suppose that General Wilson would let his friend Kendrick go to the wall for want of a trifling favor like that, do you? I've a notion to be insulted at not being asked--hang me if I haven't!"
I grasped his hand, and expressed my opinion of his offer in dumb show. There was a painful task before me, however, and as it could not be postponed, I hastened to perform it.
"You're a trump, General Wilson, but I can't take up with your offer."
"Why not?"
"Because," I said slowly, "I can't pay back the five hundred thousand if you advance it."
"What do you mean?" demanded General Wilson in bewilderment.
"Well, I am afraid that the figures on the check are correct."
"Correct? How's that?"
"They are the figures of the balance of the syndicate's fund deposited in Wharton Kendrick's hands. They show the amount of money that ought to be in the bank--and it isn't there."