"No, no, no—never that, Cooper!" interrupted Eversleigh, at last perceiving the other's drift.
"He will discover that his estate has vanished; it does not exist," said Silwood.
"What!" ejaculated Eversleigh, staring wildly at his partner, and still only half believing his ears, still only half comprehending the sweep of the calamity in which he was involved.
"The truth is, Frank, that, unknown to you, I've been speculating on the Stock Exchange, and I've lost everything, or practically everything. If we were called upon to-day," Silwood went on in a hard, penetrating tone which forced conviction on the mind of the miserable man to whom he spoke, "to produce our clients' securities, bonds, shares and monies, we should have very little to give them—the bulk has disappeared."
"We are defaulters," moaned Eversleigh, in accents of horror. And as he spoke, realizing and overwhelmed by the disaster that had overtaken him, the big, soft man seemed to shrivel and shrink up. With a pitiful sound, plaintive, appealing, like the cry of a hurt child, he covered his face with his hands and sank into his seat.
"Some years ago," Silwood resumed, "I was tempted to speculate. It appeared to be a certainty, but I lost. To gain back what I had ventured, I speculated again, with no better result. And this happened over and over again. I did not always lose, or I might have become discouraged. So I kept hoping and hoping to right myself, but I only sank deeper and deeper in the mire."
While Silwood was speaking, a dark painful flush overspread Eversleigh's face, then the blood ebbed slowly away from it, and left the cheeks deathly pale.
"I have put off telling you of our position," continued Silwood, in the same measured, monotonous, curiously callous voice that he had spoken in during most of the interview, "but the early coming—he may be here any day—of Morris Thornton compels me to state exactly how we stand. You see now why I am so anxious to know the date of his return to England."
Eversleigh slowly raised his head and looked at Silwood the reproach, anger, and rage he felt but could not express—he was so overcome, so dazed, that his tongue could not find words. He saw with appalling clearness, as in a flash of lightning, all that Silwood's disclosure meant—dishonour, ruin, and the convict's cell for himself, the brand of shame and infamy for his family. He had blindly trusted Silwood all these years, and, though he himself had taken not a penny of the clients' funds, the law would hold him equally guilty with his partner.
"Something must be done," urged Silwood.