“I don’t know,” he went on. “An old traveler like me to be taken in thus! Evidently there is under all this one of those diabolical combinations which time even fails to unravel. We ought to see, to inquire—”
And then, suddenly stopping in front of Maxence,
“How much did M. de Thaller bring to your father last evening?” he asked.
“Fifteen thousand francs.”
“Where are they?”
“Put away in mother’s room.”
“When do you expect to take them back to M. de Thaller?”
“To-morrow.”
“Why not to-day?”
“This is Sunday. The offices of the Mutual Credit must be closed.”