"You ought to," Tietjens said. "It's the very little ones you ought to attend to, as a gentleman making his fortune out of them. I have no other account with you. I have never speculated in anything in my life. I have lost a great deal in Russian securities—a great deal for me. But so, no doubt, have you."
"Then . . . betting!" Port Scatho said.
"I never put a penny on a horse in my life," Tietjens said. "I know too much about them."
Port Scatho looked at the faces first of Sylvia, then of Tietjens. Sylvia, at least, was his very old friend. She said:
"Christopher never bets and never speculates. His personal expenses are smaller than those of any man in town. You could say he had no personal expenses."
Again the swift look of suspicion came into Port Scatho's open face.
"Oh," Sylvia said, "you couldn't suspect Christopher and me of being in a plot to blackmail you."
"No; I couldn't suspect that," the banker said. "But the other explanation is just as extraordinary. . . . To suspect the bank . . . the bank. . . . How do you account? . . ." He was addressing Tietjens; his round head seemed to become square, below; emotion worked on his jaws.
"I'll tell you simply this," Tietjens said. "You can then repair the matter as you think fit. Ten days ago I got my marching orders. As soon as I had handed over to the officer who relieved me I drew cheques for everything I owed—to my military tailor, the mess—for one pound twelve shillings. I had also to buy a compass and a revolver, the Red Cross orderlies having annexed mine when I was in hospital. . . ."
Port Scatho said: "Good God!"