"Is that so?" said the colonel in surprise.
"I thought you wouldn't realise the fact," said Ferguson, "but you've been drawing very heavily of late."
"I'll put it right," said the colonel. "It is not overdrawn?" he asked jocularly, and Ferguson smiled.
"You've eighty thousand pounds in Account B," he said. "I suppose you don't want to touch that?"
Account B was the euphonious name for the fund which was the common property of all the leaders of the Boundary Gang.
"Unless you're anxious that I should get penal servitude for fraudulently converting the company's funds?" said the colonel in the same strain. "No, I'll fix my account some time to-day. In the meantime"—he produced a package from his hip-pocket—"I want this to go into my safe."
"Certainly," said Ferguson, and struck a bell. A clerk answered the call. "Take Colonel Boundary to the vaults. He wants to deposit something in his safe," he said, "or would you like me to do it, colonel?"
"I'll do it myself," said the colonel.
He followed the clerk down the spiral staircase to the well-lit vault, and with the key which the man handed him opened Safe No. 20. It was divided into two compartments, that on the left consisting of a deep drawer, which he pulled out. It was half filled with American paper currency, as he knew—currency neatly parcelled and carefully packed by his own hands.
"I often wonder, Colonel Boundary," said the interested clerk, "why you don't use the bank safe. When a customer has his own, you know, we are not responsible for any of his losses."