"Sit still, Mason. I have heard all that you have to say. Be quiet, I tell you. Wait until I refuse your request."
"My dear boy," interrupted Mr. Abingdon, who knew Philip's generous impulses, "you will never think of condoning——"
"Forgive me! Let me carry matters a stage further. Now you, Grenier. What have you to say?"
"Very little!" was the cool response. "My excellent friend has made a clean breast of everything. You didn't die, and so spoiled the finest coup that ever man dreamed of. I had no difficulty in concocting the requisite epistles from Sir Philip and Lady Morland. Your London bank accepted my signatures with touching confidence. I have opened two accounts in your name, one in York and one in Leeds, five thousand pounds each. This morning I heard from London that one hundred and fifty thousand pounds of your Consols had been realized, and placed to your current account. Just to be feeling the pulse of the local money market, I drew out two thousand pounds to-day. It is there, in notes, on the table. You will also find the check books and passbooks in perfect order. Oh, by the way, I told your man Green to open your safe and send me your mysterious portmanteau. It is in my bedroom. That is all, I think. I am sorry if I worried the young lady——"
"You unutterable scamp," cried Philip.
"Well, I had to keep her quiet, you know. As it was, she suspected me. I suppose my messages hadn't the proper ring in them. And—what the deuce is a Blue Atom?"
Dr. Scarth was even more interested than ever, if possible.
"Blue Atom! Blue Atom is a nobler specimen of a dog than yourself. He is a prize toy Pomeranian; you are a mongrel."
Grenier, for an instant, grew confused again. He sighed deeply.
"A dog!" he murmured. "A blue Pomeranian! Who would have guessed it?"