Dawson’s face flushed violently; his nostrils dilated unpleasantly. Mellen’s face turned perceptibly paler and the lines of it became harder. But his voice was steady and his manner almost matter-of-fact as he said to the young man: “Then it is almost certain you are not going to deposit too much gold hereafter at the Metropolitan Bank.”
“I am not going to deposit any more gold at any bank, because—” Grinnell hesitated.
“Yes?” Mellen’s eyes were fixed on the young man’s face, is if he thought every fleeting expression was as important as the words themselves.
“Because I haven’t any more gold to deposit,” finished Grinnell, very calmly.
“That is now. But will you not produce any more gold?” The richest man in the world spoke very quietly and very distinctly.
“I never produced any. I sold the Assay Office the last ounce I ever had over a month ago.”
“You must have obtained it somewhere, somehow,” said the richest man in the world. His manner conveyed an impression of patience. “Did you buy it?”
“No, sir. I didn’t buy it.” The young man’s calmness was not theatrical and it had a quieting effect. He paused an instant; then he went on: “In fact, I had no gold of my own. It was all my father-in-law’s.” He turned away and rose as if to go to the window.
Mellen spoke sharply: “Mr. Grinnell!”
“Yes.” He looked the richest man in the world straight in the eyes. Mellen said rudely: “Explain yourself, sir!”