“But, Harry, my dear boy, you are mad! You have no idea of the extent.”
“Two hundred and five ounces would equal the amount in pesos d’oro which Señor Landell is indebted,” said the notary quietly.
“Good!” I said. “Then will you have proper balances brought? Uncle, see to the return of your papers.”
“I am in the hands of Señor Xeres,” said my uncle in a bewildered tone. “He will see justice done.”
The old notary bowed and smiled, while I crossed to where my leather case stood upon a side-table, brought it to my chair, and then seated myself, slowly unbuckling the straps and unlocking it while the balances were brought, when I drew out six of the little yellow bar ingots and passed them over to the notary, who was the banker of the district as well.
He took them, turned them over, wiped his glasses, and replaced them; then examined each bar again.
“Pure metal, I think, señor?” I said, smiling.
“The purest, Señor Inglese,” he replied with another bow.
Then, placing the ingots in the balances, he recorded each one’s weight as he went on, to find them, with a few grains variation more or less, six ounces each.
Five times, to Garcia’s astonishment and rage, did I bring from the case in my lap six of the golden bars, the notary the while testing and weighing them one by one in the coolest and most business-like way imaginable. Then his spectacles were directed inquiringly at me, and I brought out four more, which were duly weighed and placed with the others. Then again were the spectacles directed at me.