“I'm busy; go away, my dear, go away; I can't talk to you now.”
Phœbe gave the visitor a look which perplexed him; but which meant, if he could but have read it, an earnest entreaty to him to go away. She said to herself, impatiently, that he would have understood had he been a woman; but as it was he only stared with lack-lustre eyes. What was she to do?
“Grandpapa,” she said, decisively, “it is too late for business to-night. However urgent it may be, you can't do anything to-night. Why, it is nearly ten o'clock, and most people are going to bed. See Mr. ——, I mean this gentleman—to-morrow morning the first thing; for you know, however anxious you may be, you can't do anything to-night.”
“That is true enough,” he said, looking with staring eyes from her to his visitor, “and more's the pity. What had to be done should ha' been done to-day. It should have been done to-day, sir, on the spot, not left over night like this, to give the villain time to get away. It's a crime, Phœbe, that's what it is—that's the fact. It's a crime.”
“Well, grandpapa, I am very sorry; but it will not mend matters, will it, if sitting up like this, and agitating yourself like this, makes you ill? That will not do away with the crime. It is bed-time, and poor grandmamma is dozing, and wondering what has become of you. Grandpapa——”
“Phœbe, go away, it ain't none of your business; you're only a bit of a girl, and how can you understand? If you think I'm going to sit down with it like an old fool, lose my money, and what is worse nor my money, let my very name be forged before my eyes—”
Phœbe gave so perceptible a start that Tozer stopped short, and even the banking-clerk looked at her with aroused curiosity.
“Forged!” she cried, with a gasp of dismay; “is it so bad as that?” She had never been more near betraying herself, showing a personal interest more close than was natural. When she saw the risk she was running, she stopped short and summoned all her energies. “I thought some one had pilfered something,” she said with an attempt at a laugh. “I beg your pardon, grandpapa; but anyhow what can you do to-night? You are keeping—this gentleman—and yourself out of bed. Please put it off till to-morrow.”
“I think so too,” said the banker's clerk. “I'll come to you in the morning as I go to the Bank. Perhaps I may have been wrong; but I think there's more in it than meets the eye. To-morrow we can have the man Cotsdean up and question him.”
“After he's had time to take himself off,” said Tozer, vehemently. “You take my word he ain't in Carlingford, not now, let alone to-morrow.”