Grayleigh re-entered the room where the directors waited for him.
“I saw Ogilvie just now,” he said, “and he sticks to his story. I fear, too, that I was wrong in my conjecture with regard to his madness. He must have had a temporary madness when he drew up and signed the false report. I suppose we ought to consider ourselves lucky.”
“At least the widows and orphans won’t be ruined,” said one of the directors, a thin-faced anxious-looking man. “Well, of course, Lord Grayleigh, we must all wash our hands of this.”
“We must do so advisedly,” was Grayleigh’s remark; “remember, we have gone far. Remember, the cablegram was not kept too secret, and the knowledge of the excellent report sent by Ogilvie has got to the ears of one or two city editors. He must give out that there was a misunderstanding as to the value of the mine.”
“And what of Ogilvie himself?” said an angry-looking man. “Such infamous conduct requires stringent measures. Do you gentlemen share my views?”
One or two did, but most protested against dragging Ogilvie’s story too prominently into the light of day.
“It may reflect on ourselves,” said one or two. “It is just possible there may be some people who will not believe that he was alone in this matter.”
Lord Grayleigh was the last to speak.
“If I were you, gentlemen,” he said, moodily, “I would leave Ogilvie to his God.”