“Where did you find this?” asked Jack, rousing himself.
“On the floor in front of the cupboard.”
“It must have slipped from the box when I took out the mortgage. I went over it with Nicolas Bouchard this morning.”
“Oh, does he hold it?”
“Yes—and—”
“He wants his money?”
Jack nodded.
“But what can we do? We can’t possibly pay him.”
“Nothing, I guess, dear, except let him foreclose.”
“Would we get any money at all, then?”