No letters bearing the name of Beck had arrived, and the inquirer was turning away when Stokes acted with quick heedlessness, which must be the excuse for what followed. In his own defence he used to say afterward that the presence of Colonel Beck so corrupted him with an atmosphere of Wall Street, that he couldn’t speak the truth if he tried.
“Oh, Colonel, one moment. You are an old friend of Steele’s, aren’t you?”
The Colonel turned on his heel.
“Yes. Why?” he asked.
“I’d like to speak with you a moment about him, if you don’t mind. I’m an old friend of his, too, but unfortunately I’m poor, and so, however willing, I can’t be of much assistance to him. Did he speak to you last night about money matters after I left you?”
“No,” said the Colonel, drawing down his brows. “Ah! that’s just like him. I came away to give him the opportunity. I owe you an apology for my attitude when you first came to the Consulate. Of course, I knew Steele’s address, but I thought you might be a creditor of his, and goodness knows the poor fellow has had enough of them.”
“Why, what do you mean? If he owns that Northern Pacific stock, he’s a rich man, richer than you have any idea of, if he sells at once. He can realise millions on that stock at the present moment.”
“Then he hasn’t told you what he did with it?”
The ruddy face of the Colonel seemed to become mottled, and he moistened his lips as he said:
“No. What has he done with it?”