"Yes, it is; no one else could do it. But that's of no consequence. I had a telegram from him tonight----"
"Will you let me see it!" interrupted Mark.
"I did not bring it with me. It told me that the water was flowing into the mine; flowing, mind; and it added these words. 'Not known here yet.' I infer, therefore, that the men had left the mine for the night, that the mischief will not be generally known there until the morning, and consequently cannot be known here. You will have time to save something."
Mark felt as if water were flowing over him. He stood there under the gas-burner--the servant had only lighted one--a picture of perplexity, his face blank, his hand running restlessly through his hair, after his old restless manner, the diamond studs in his shirt sparkling and gleaming. All this sounded as though some treason, some treachery, were at work. If this man could get news up, he and Barker ought to have got it.
A knock at the door. It opened about an inch, and Caroline's voice was heard.
"Mark, we must go. We are keeping the dinner waiting." And Mark was turning towards her, when Mr. Brackenbury silently caught him by the arm, and spoke in a whisper.
"No! Not until you have given me my money."
"Allow me to say a word to my wife," said Mark, haughtily. "I will return to you in an instant."
Caroline stood there with questioning eyes and a rebellious face. Mark shut the door while he spoke to her.
"You must go on alone, my dear. I can't come yet. I'll join you later in the evening."