"This is the paper." The girl handed it over to him, and a little dazedly he took the certificate from the envelope.
"A very admirable security," said Hewson, deliberately, "bought by Mr. Crossley a month ago."
"Very admirable!" spluttered the manager, only to relapse into silence under the penetrating stare of Hewson's eye.
"And if you will just vouch for me to Miss Crossley, I don't think we need detain you further."
"With pleasure." Matters were completely beyond him: but, at any rate, he could do that. "You can place things in Mr. Hewson's hands with absolute confidence, Miss Crossley."
"Thank you," said the girl, and they all rose. He opened the door and she passed into the bank. For one moment the two men were alone, and Hewson seized the manager by the arm.
"Not a word," he whispered. "They don't know who I am. Father been swindled by some swine in London."
Nodding portentously, the worthy manager followed them to the door. Assuredly one of the most remarkable episodes that had come his way, during thirty years' experience. Rio Lopez! Two thousand five hundred of them! And he was still staring dazedly at a placard extolling Exchequer Bonds, which adorned his office wall, when the London train steamed slowly out of the station. Its departure had been to the casual eye quite normal: but the casual eye is, as its name implies, casual. The departure had been far from normal.
It was just as the guard was waving his flag that a man, leaning our of the window of a first-class carriage, spoke to a girl standing on the platform.
"You say you didn't trust the man, Miss Crossley. Do you—trust me?"