“Yes,” said Potts, “as much as I care about being. I don’t know any thing in particular that I care about locking the doors for.”
“Well, you know best,” said the stranger. “The business upon which I have come concerns you somewhat, but your son principally.”
Potts started, and looked with eager inquiry at the stranger.
“It is such a serious case,” said the latter, “that my seniors thought, before taking any steps in the matter, it would be best to consult you privately.”
“Well,” returned Potts, with a frown, “what is this wonderful case?”
“Forgery,” said the stranger.
Potts started to his feet with a ghastly face, and stood speechless for some time.
“Do you know who you’re talking to?” said he, at last.
“John Potts, of Brandon Hall, I presume,” said the stranger, coolly. “My business concerns him somewhat, but his son still more.”
“What the devil do you mean?” growled Potts, in a savage tone.