“Preston!” The name came sharply from Eldon Parr's lips. “What about him? Speak, can't you?”
“He died this evening,” said Alison, simply.
Hodder plainly heard the ticking of the clock on the mantel.... And the drama that occurred was the more horrible because it was hidden; played, as it were, behind closed doors. For the spectators, there was only the black wall, and the silence. Eldon Parr literally did nothing,—made no gesture, uttered no cry. The death, they knew, was taking place in his soul, yet the man stood before them, naturally, for what seemed an interminable time....
“Where is he?” he asked.
“At Mr. Bentley's, in Dalton Street.” It was Alison who replied again.
Even then he gave no sign that he read retribution in the coincidence, betrayed no agitation at the mention of a name which, in such a connection, might well have struck the terror of judgment into his heart. They watched him while, with a firm step, he crossed the room and pressed a button in the wall, and waited.
“I want the closed automobile, at once,” he said, when the servant came.
“I beg pardon; sir, but I think Gratton has gone to bed. He had no orders.”
“Then wake him,” said Eldon Parr, “instantly. And send for my secretary.”
With a glance which he perceived Alison comprehended, Hodder made his way out of the room. He had from Eldon Parr, as he passed him, neither question, acknowledgment, nor recognition. Whatever the banker might have felt, or whether his body had now become a mere machine mechanically carrying on a life-long habit of action, the impression was one of the tremendousness of the man's consistency. A great effort was demanded to summon up the now almost unimaginable experience of his confidence; of the evening when, almost on that very spot, he had revealed to Hodder the one weakness of his life. And yet the effort was not to be, presently, without startling results. In the darkness of the street the picture suddenly grew distinct on the screen of the rector's mind, the face of the banker subtly drawn with pain as he had looked down on it in compassion; the voice with its undercurrent of agony: