Mr. Starr ordered Britt to tack that card on the outer door.
“Isn't there any other way but this?” asked the president.
“There's nothing else to be done—certainly not! I'm afraid the institution is in a bad way, Britt. You say you have been calling regular loans in order to build up a cash reserve—and your cash isn't in sight. I reckon it means that the stockholders will be assessed the full hundred per cent of liability.”
He bolted the bank door behind the president.
“Now, Vaniman, did you find out anything sensible about those books, as far as you got last evening?”
“Only that the accounts seem to have been willfully tangled up.”
“Then we'll let that part of the thing hang. Get out letters to depositors, calling in all pass books.”
After Vaniman had set himself down to that task, Starr went about his business briskly. He prepared telegrams and sent his charioteer to put them on the wire at Levant. Those messages were intended to set in operation the state police, a firm of licensed auditors, the security company which had bonded the bank's officials, the insurance corporation which guaranteed the Egypt Trust Company against loss by burglars. Then Starr proceeded with the usual routine of examination as conducted when banks are going concerns.
For the next few days Egypt was on the map.
Ike Jones was obliged to put extra pungs on to his stage line for the accommodation of visitors who included accountants, newspaper reporters, insurance men, and security representatives.