He drove to Evans's. The solicitor was in an outer office among his clerks. Grey was too impatient to wait until they could reach the private room, and too cautious to allow Evans to answer his question aloud. He took up a sheet of paper and wrote on it:
"What were the net proceeds of my mother's sale?"
He handed this to Evans.
The solicitor wrote some figures, and returned the paper to Grey.
The banker turned down the side of paper with the figures, and went to the window. With his back to the attorney and clerks he read the figures. The paper fell from his hand. He raised his face against the thin winter light. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. A convulsive movement began at the shoulders and descended throughout his body. He swayed to and fro violently.
Evans raised his head, and saw something was wrong. He stole softly behind the banker, and placed his hand on the other's arm.
"Come this way. Come to my private room," whispered the solicitor gently.
Grey moved away mechanically. Even with the attorney's assistance he walked unsteadily.
When he had reached the private room Evans pressed Grey into a chair, locked the door, and said:
"Rest a while. Rest a while, and then tell me."