Mr. Rae, however, was king of his own castle. “Will you not be seated, Sir?” he said, pointing to a chair. “Sit down, young gentlemen.”
His quiet dignity, his perfect courtesy, recalled the Captain to himself. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Rae, but I am really much disturbed. Can we begin at once?” He glanced as he spoke at Mr. Dunn, who immediately rose.
“Sit down, Mr. Dunn,” said Mr. Rae quietly. “I have asked this young gentleman,” he continued, turning to the Captain, “to remain. He has already given me valuable assistance. I fancy he may be able to serve us still further, if he will be so good.”
Mr. Dunn bowed in silence.
“Now let us proceed with what must be an exceedingly painful matter for us all, and out of which nothing but extreme candour on the part of Mr. Allan here, and great wisdom on the part of us all, can possibly extract us.” Mr. Rae's glance rested upon the Captain, who bowed, and upon his son, who made no sign whatever, but remained with his face set in the same sullen gloom with which he had greeted his father.
Mr. Rae opened a drawer and brought forth a slip of paper. “Mr. Allan,” he said, with a certain sharpness in his tone, “please look at this.”
Cameron came to the desk, picked up the paper, glanced at it. “It is my father's cheque,” he said, “which I received about a week ago.”
“Look at the endorsement, please,” said Mr. Rae.
Cameron turned it over. A slight flush came to his pale face. “It is mine to—” he hesitated, “Mr. Potts.”
“Mr. Potts cashed it then?”