That note almost precipitated the crisis. In the usual way when he was wanted at the Castle Sir Alexander wrote a line himself, or called and asked the banker down for the evening. This note did not come from Sir Alexander, but from Miss Midharst's companion. At the moment when his mother entered a straw might have turned his resolution in favour of giving the lead a walk-over. But with the news brought by his mother all was changed, and the gold had taken a good lead.
As he sat back in the fly and reviewed his position he could hardly restrain his exultation within the bounds of mere facial joy. He would have liked to get out and run through the streets, and shout.
A few minutes ago he held all black cards to a red trump. Now the whole pack seemed to have been put before him face up, with liberty to select his own hand and turn a trump of his own choosing.
No run could injure the Daneford Bank; other banks might fail, but his was secure for the time; and by the aid of its good substantial name the Daneford would get strong while others were crumbling, and the future success of the Bank would be assured beyond the reach of his highest hope of years ago.
Only two possible chances were against him, and if neither of these chances turned up within twelve months he might laugh at fate.
The former was that in the will there should be introduced anything adverse to him. The latter was that the old man should die in less than twelve months, and leave it incumbent on the banker to render an account and deliver up the money before the end of twelve months.
Grey had fully made up his mind as to the necessity for a will. Without a will there would in all likelihood be Chancery proceedings; and while no one in Daneford would dream of suspecting Grey, or ask details of the account, much less verification of the items, the Chancery folk will go through the whole affair as a matter of routine, and not as a matter of precaution, or because of any suspicion.
Let there be a will, by all means.
It was fine to drive through the bright sunlight of that glorious May weather, and feel that the gold was overtaking the lead. It was better than recovering from a long illness; it was coming back, to life and green fields and the voices of birds and the pressure of hands we love, out of the dark, damp, noisome tomb.
When Mr. Grey arrived at Island Ferry he alighted, told the driver of the fly to wait for him, and took the boat to the Island.