Purcell Sandys was a real, honest, firm-handed Englishman. He had, by his own pluck, self-confidence and shrewd intuition, raised himself from his small office as a provincial bank manager to the position he had attained in the financial world. Mrs Sandys, who had been a great invalid for years, had died at St. Moritz two years before, and he had only Elma left to him. And naturally he doted upon her—his only child.
That night he felt himself up against a brick wall—he, whose very name was a power upon every bourse in Europe.
Alone in her room Elma, dismissing her maid Evans, sank at her bedside and prayed. She loved her father, and had never before seen him with hopelessness written plainly upon his features.
She thought of Roddy. Would that he were at her side to advise and help her!
But she was alone—alone except for her little pet, the black pom, Tweedles.
Chapter Twenty Two.
By Stroke of the Pen.
Next day the news of the sudden death of Sir Charles Hornton at his country house in Suffolk caused a great sensation in the City. But as the truth was never guessed, the greatest sympathy was felt on every hand for his close friend and partner Purcell Sandys. The fact that Sir Charles had committed suicide had not leaked out. He had been found dead under very mysterious circumstances. That was all.