“Yes, sir, five minutes ago.”
Ogilvie tore it open, and read the contents.
“Meeting of directors at one o’clock to-morrow, at Cannon Street Hotel. Not necessary for you to be present unless you wish. GRAYLEIGH.”
Ogilvie crushed up the telegram, and turned to the man.
“I shall sleep here to-night,” Ogilvie said, “and shall be back in the course of the evening.”
He then went to his bank. It was within half-an-hour of closing. He saw one of the managers who happened to be a friend of his. The manager welcomed him back with effusion, and then made the usual remark about his changed appearance.
Ogilvie put his troublesome questions aside.
“I had an interview with you just before I went to Queensland,” he said, “and I then placed, with a special note for your instructions in case anything happened to me, a sum of money in the bank.”
“A large sum, Ogilvie—ten thousand pounds.”
“Yes, ten thousand pounds,” repeated Ogilvie. “I want to withdraw the money.”