"What rot!" interrupted Challoner.
But by this time Pemmican had reached the end of the hall, leaving the other to gather what he could of his mumbled excuses.
In anything but an amiable mood, Challoner resumed his position at the buffet. Suddenly he was conscious of a light touch on the arm. Turning slowly, he found himself face to face again with Pemmican.
"Why don't you try Colonel Hargraves?" whispered the latter.
"What?" came from the clogged brain of Challoner.
"Try Hargraves," the other went on. "He's been down to Gravesend for two days; and he's back...."
Pemmican's meaning was lost on Challoner, for he merely exclaimed:—
"Well?"
Before answering, Pemmican of the low brow shrugged his shoulders and spread out his palms, then he said pointedly:—
"Only that he pulled out ten thousand on Flora McQueen—that's all!"