“Other people’s money?”
“Yes—other people’s money,” drawled out the young man, sneeringly. “Old Townley got his boxes full, and then used it.”
“Hush,” said several, pointing to Mr. Livingstone in the window. “I guess it’ll be some time before White gets his precious partner in here, after that remark,” said another.
Mr. Livingstone, too, had taken a paper, and been poring over it; but something in this last speech seemed to reach his ear, and he looked up.
“Let’s ask the old boy,” said Malgam, in an undertone. “He must know more than all of us.”
“Have you heard this news, sir?” said Killian Van Kull. Mr. Livingstone nodded silently. “And is it as bad as they say?”
“Worse,” said the old gentleman, his voice quavering.
“But you cannot suppose that Mr. Townley knew anything of it?”
“It makes little difference whether he knew of it or not,” answered the old man. There was a printed list of the club’s members on the wall opposite him, and he was looking at it. Perhaps he was looking at the name of Charles Townley, whom he had played with as a boy.
“I knew that Tamms was a bad egg,” said De Witt, “but that Mr. Townley——”