Greig, having but a vague idea of Britz's plan, vouchsafed no reply. He remained close to the other's elbow.
Another ten minutes passed and Britz began to look uneasily at the door. A shade of disappointment crossed his face, and did not go unobserved by his assistant.
The crowd was growing unwieldy. It began to exert a slow, steady pressure against the door of Ward's office. The mob was composed entirely of creditors, for the merely curious had grown tired and departed hours ago. Those who remained were beyond discouragement; they hung on with the persistency of despair.
"Oh, let's tear down the blamed door!" shouted someone in a voice more determined than had been heard thus far. "I'm not going home to-day until I learn just what's happened to my money."
"Yes, break it down!" echoed a dozen voices.
But suddenly the attention of the mob was diverted from the door. A woman had torn into the corridor and was struggling frantically to make a lane for herself. There was something compelling about her, something in her pale, distraught face that commanded the respectful surrender of the crowd. They made a passage for her, through which she passed hurriedly.
"Mrs. Collins—Ward's sister!" said Britz aloud.
The words penetrated the serried ranks of creditors like an electric spark. Instantly their attitude changed. Closing in on her, they forced her against the door of the office as though she were a lay figure. All their better instincts, all their upbringing was forgotten in the inarticulate fury aroused by her presence.
She stood, palpitant, a dull stare in her eyes, her frame throbbing violently.
"Where's your brother?" someone broke the silence. "Where is he? Where's our money? You were interested in the bank! You were one of the owners. What did you do with our money?"