A shadow passed over the banker's face.
"That is a contingency I do not care to contemplate," he said curtly.
He glanced at his watch.
"I have not asked you to explain your mysterious visit," he said, with a smile, "and I am afraid I must curb my curiosity, for I have an appointment in ten minutes, as far west as Portland Place. In the meantime, it may interest you to read the bank's balance-sheet."
Van Ingen's eye was on him as he opened a drawer in his desk.
He closed it again hurriedly, with a little frown. He opened another drawer and produced a printed sheet. "Here it is," he said. "Would you care to see me again at ten to-morrow?"
T. B. might have told him that for the next twelve hours the banker would hardly be out of sight for an hour, but he replied:
"I shall be very pleased."
He had shaken hands with Sir George, and was on his way to the door, when Van Ingen gave him a sign. T. B. turned again.
"By the way," he said, pointing to the picture over the fireplace, "that is the Bronte, is it not?"