Since his arrival he had unpacked his barrels of cement, and with infinite trouble concealed the treasure they so cunningly contained under the floor of his room. This exertion, if it had served no other purpose, had at least afforded him some occupation.
After a while he looked at his watch and found it was growing late. Putting down his book, he was in the act of making up his bed, which, by the way, was not as luxurious as the one to which he had been accustomed in his old house at Kensington, when to his horror he heard stealthy footsteps in the corridor outside his room. Next moment the door opened, and a tall and singularly handsome man entered. He bowed politely, and said in excellent English—
"Mr. Bradshaw, I believe?"
The ex-banker was too terrified to reply.
"I have taken the liberty of calling upon you on a little matter of business. May I sit down?"
Without waiting for permission, he seated himself on the bed. Bradshaw sank back with a groan into his chair.
"You are lately from England, I believe?"
Bradshaw found his voice at last, and said the first thing that came into his head.
"What do you want with me? I cannot see you now; I'm not well."
"I am sorry, but what I have to say admits of no delay. You arrived in Buenos Ayres by the brig Florence Annie of Teignmouth—and oh, by the way, what have you done with that £250,000?"