“Pooh! Old Smithers is old enough to be this man’s grandfather.”
“Did you ever happen to notice that old Smithers hadn’t a wrinkle in his face?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing—only his hair mightn’t have been natural; that’s all.”
Potts and John exchanged glances, and nothing was said for some time.
“Perhaps this Smithers & Son have been at the bottom of all this,” continued John. “They are the only ones who could have been strong enough.”
“But why should they?”
John shook his head.
“Despard or Langhetti may have got them to do it. Perhaps that d——d girl did it. Smithers & Co. will make money enough out of the speculation to pay them. As for me and you, I begin to have a general but very accurate idea of ruin. You are getting squeezed pretty close up to the wall, dad, and they won’t give you time to breathe.”
Before this conversation had ended the stranger had entered, and had gone up to the drawing-room. The servant came down to announce him.