“And taken up with Mr Bagpipes.”
“Do you want to quarrel, Pradelle?”
“Not I, dear boy; I’m dumb.”
He said no more on that subject, but he had said enough. That was the truth then. Madelaine had given him up on that account, and the sting rankled in Harry’s breast.
“Money goes to the bank every day, you say?” said Pradelle.
“Yes. Crampton takes it.”
“But that sum of money in notes? How much is there of that?”
“Five hundred.”
“Why don’t that go to the bank?”
“I don’t know. A deposit, I think; likely to be called for.”