“Forty thousand pounds,” answered the stranger.
“Sorry we can’t accommodate you, Sir,” returned the clerk.
Potts had heard this and came forward.
“Won’t you take a draft on London?” said he.
“Can’t,” replied the man; “I was ordered to get gold.”
“A draft on Smithers & Co.?”
“Couldn’t take even Bank of England notes,” said the stranger; “I’m only an agent. If you can’t accommodate me I’m sorry, I’m sure.”
Potts was silent. His face was ghastly. As much agony as such a man could endure was felt by him at that moment.
Half an hour afterward the shutters were up; and outside the door stood a wild and riotous crowd, the most noisy of whom was the tailor.
The Brandon Bank had failed.