In a few minutes the door was opened, and Mr. Tamms came out. “Mr. Townley,” he said in flute-like tones; “will you kindly step in for a moment?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Charlie. He went in, and the door was closed behind them. The pious Deacon was sitting upon the lounge on one corner, with folded wings, like a large blue-bottle.
“I wish you to tell Deacon Remington under what circumstances the house of Townley & Tamms were compelled to meet the deficit in the Starbuck Terminal bonds and avert foreclosure. Do you remember anything about it?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Charlie. He hesitated a moment, but was much too clever to seem to look to Tamms for the cue. “It was by order of Mr. Townley himself.”
“Do you remember the day?”
“It was the day after my return from Long Branch—three days after our drive to Ocean Grove.”
“You see, Deacon?” said Tamms, in the meek tones of a Christian unjustly wronged.
“Oh, yes, I see,” said the Deacon.
“And am I right in stating that Mr. Townley’s attitude was most peremptory?” Charlie nodded. “That he went so far as to threaten a dissolution of partnership unless his orders were instantly complied with?”
“He made me mail the circulars and send one out over the tape the same afternoon,” said Charlie.