"So be it. One matter, only, remains between us. I am about to ring up on the last act of our little comedy."
"Theatrical, as always, aren't you?" Nelson's lip curled.
For a moment Gray stared at the speaker curiously; his tone had altered when he said: "You're a better poker player than I thought. You're almost as good a bluffer as I am. That, by the way, is probably the last compliment I shall pay you."
"Come! I've no time to waste."
"You will soon have ample time—if not to waste, at least to meditate—"
"What do you mean by that?" The query came sharply.
"I've had an examination of the bank's books. That, as you will readily understand, explains why I sent for you."
"Why—no. I don't—"
"I wondered how you and your father got the money to keep going so long, for I discovered you were in a bad way even before I turned up. It is no longer a mystery. When you and he, as directors of the Security National, lent yourselves money, as individuals, you must have realized that you were—well, arranging ample leisure for yourselves in which to meditate upon the stringency of the banking laws—"
"Nonsense! That's n-nothing—nothing serious." Nelson's ruddy color had slowly vanished; with uncertain hand he reached for the nearest chair, and upon it he leaned as he continued, jerkily: "Irregular, perhaps—I'll admit it was irregular, but—there's nothing wrong—Oh, you'll make it look as bad as possible, I dare say! But you don't understand the circumstances. Anyhow, father is getting it straightened out; all he needs is time. We'll be able to handle it, all right. We're good, you know, perfectly good—"