Bertram pricked up his ears. So the manager was also aware that Max was the Crown Prince of Pannonia? He was sorry for that; it might lead to complications.
"My only desire," the other continued, "for speaking to you about—well, about Mr. Mortimer, was that, should you know his address, you might be able to tell him how anxiously his friends have been seeking his whereabouts. If he would only grant them an interview, they would be so thankful."
"That, I feel sure, he will not do," said Bertram. "Nothing would induce him to think of such a thing."
The manager sighed.
"It seems a pity," he went on. "I cannot think why he should be so wilful."
"Nor I," answered Bertram. "The fact, however, remains that it is his own business, and he is entitled to conduct it as he pleases." As he said this he rose.
"I will see if your money is prepared," said the manager, following him.
"Many thanks," returned Bertram, and when he had received it from the cashier, he left the bank, the manager bidding him good-bye upon the doorstep. Then, having made sure he was not being followed by anyone from the bank, he set off as fast as he could go in the direction of the inn where he and Max had taken up their abode. He was not aware that Mr. Brockford had been standing on the opposite side of the street waiting for him to come out, and that as soon as he did so and had started on his walk, the other followed him, keeping a safe distance behind, but never for one moment losing sight of him. Reaching the inn, Bertram made his way to their sitting-room and handed Max the money. He was in the act of informing him of what had taken place at the bank, when there was a tap at the door. A moment later it opened, and Brockford stood before them.
Max sprang to his feet with an exclamation of astonishment.
"Brockford!" he cried, "what on earth does this mean? How did you know I was here?"