“He gave it to me, or the cat or somebody. Anyway, I had it. Dempsi hadn’t a relation in the world, and I just banked the money with my own.” She bit her lip. “I intended putting up such a beautiful monument to him,” she added thoughtfully.
Bobbie drew a sigh of relief.
“Well, my dear girl, as you’ve obviously sent him the money, the worst is over. You can replace it: the banks do not close till twelve.”
“How am I to replace it?” she asked scornfully. “I’ve no money in my own bank, except a few pounds that I opened the account with when I came to London. I took the fifty thousand dollars and put eight thousand pounds to my own account. Here’s the rest.” She drew out a wad of bills and handed them to him.
Bobbie looked at her aghast.
“But this Tilmet, this American—you’ve got to find the money for him?”
“I thought you’d get it for me,” she said, her big eyes fixed pleadingly on him.
“It’ll want some doing. You can’t raise eight thousand in real money in two hours. Is this money of Gordon’s in your bank?”
She nodded.