Potts thanked him profusely. “I wish to see your cashier, to learn his mode of managing the accounts. Much depends on that, and a short conversation will satisfy me.”
“Certainly, Sir, certainly,” said Potts, obsequiously. “Philips!” he called.
Philips came in as timid and as shrinking as usual.
“This is Mr. Smithers, the great Smithers of Smithers & Co., Bankers; he wishes to have a talk with you.”
Philips looked at the great man with deep respect and made an awkward bow.
“You may come with me to my hotel,” said Smithers; and with a slight bow to Potts he left the bank, followed by Philips.
He went up stairs and into a large parlor on the second story, which looked into the street. He motioned Philips to a chair near the window, and seated himself in an arm-chair opposite.
Smithers looked at the other with a searching glance, and said nothing for some time. His large, full eyes, as they fixed themselves on the face of the other, seemed to read his inmost thoughts and study every part of his weak and irresolute character.
At length he said, abruptly, in a slow, measured voice, “Edgar Lawton!”
At the sound of this name Philips started from his chair, and stood on his feet trembling. His face, always pale, now became ashen, his lips turned white, his jaw fell, his eyes seemed to start from their sockets. He stood for a few seconds, then sank back into a chair.