At Grindlay’s Bank, Madame Louison quietly descended, leaning on the arm of Hugh Johnstone. There was hurrying to and fro on their appearance, and in ten minutes a second carriage received the disguised Alixe Delavigne, while the Manager of Grindlay’s escorted her, under the eyes of her two guardians. The Golden Calf was the reigning god, even in these later days.
With a dignified pace, the carriage of Hugh Johnstone led the way to the Bank of Bengal, where a private room soon hid the three principal parties from the gaze of the multi-colored throng of clerks and accountants. A conference of the gravest nature ensued, as both the Bank Managers jealously watched each other.
Hugh Johnstone was as pale as a man wrestling with the dark angel when Madame Louison produced a faded document and a receipt of extended legal verbiage. The Manager of Grindlay’s gazed, in mute surprise, when the highest dignitary of the Bengal Bank at last entered the room, followed by two porters bearing two brass-bound mahogany boxes of antique manufacture. Hugh Fraser Johnstone’s stony face was carelessly impassive.
“Pray examine these seals!” the newcomer said, “and, remember, Mr. Johnstone, that we exact your absolute release for the long-continued responsibility. Here is a memorandum of the storage and charges. You must sign, also, as Hugh Fraser—now Hugh Fraser Johnstone.”
Old Hugh Johnstone’s voice never trembled, as he said, after a minute inspection:
“I will give you a cheque.” Then, dashing off his signature upon the receipt tendered by Madame Louison, he calmly said: “These things are only of a trifling value—some long-treasured trinkets of my dead wife’s. May I be left alone for a moment?”
The three silent witnesses retired into an adjoining room. In five minutes, Hugh Johnstone called the Bank Governor to his side. “There is your receipt, duly signed, and your cheque to balance, Mr. Governor. We are now both relieved of a tiresome controversy. Will you please bring in the others?”
With a pleasant smile, the flush of a great happiness upon his face, Hugh Fraser Johnstone remarked: “I desire to state publicly that Madame Louison and my self have, in this little transaction, closed all our affairs. I have given to her a quit-claim release of all and every demand whatsoever.” With kindly eyes, Berthe Louison listened to a few murmured words from Hugh Johnstone. Bowing her stately head, she swept from the room upon the arm of the polite manager of Grindlay’s.
“Home,” said the genial banker, as he deferentially questioned the Lady of the Silver Bungalow. “Do you honor us with a long visit?” he eagerly asked.
“I return to-morrow evening, on the same train with the soon-to-be Sir Hugh. I only came here to attend to some business at the French Consulate and to adjust this trifling matter.” Hugh Johnstone writhed in rage, as he saw the cool way in which Berthe Louison fortified her safety lines.