“And your deposits?”
“If I died before I carried out my plans, what need to worry about this gold? If my sister died, she wouldn’t care what became of it either. I fear, Mr. Dawson,” he finished, very slowly, “that the gold we left behind us would do neither good nor harm to the world.” The president sat down.
“Yours is a remarkable story, Mr. Grin-nell, which I am compelled to believe. I must see you again.”
“Next Thursday?” with a smile.
“Very well. I thank you for your confidence. I beg that you will not speak of your affairs to any one.”
“I’m not likely to. I didn’t expect, when I came here, to tell you as much as I have. Good-morning, Mr. Dawson,” and he walked briskly out of the office.
The president gulped, as though swallowing a dry and obdurate morsel.
“We are undone!” he muttered.
He rose and stood by his desk, supporting himself as though the office floor were unstable and staring unseeingly at a painting on the wall—the portrait of his predecessor. He nodded toward the portrait and muttered drunkenly: “Absolutely at the mercy of one man!”
He nodded again. Then he said to the portrait: “I must see Mellen!”