Greyle, his usually rubicund face pale with emotion, his hand waving a
scrap of crumpled paper. Mrs. Greyle and Audrey were at that moment in
consultation with Sir Cresswell Oliver and Copplestone--the bank manager
burst in on them without ceremony.
"I say, I say!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Will you believe it!--the
gold's come back! It's all safe--every penny. Bless me!--I scarcely know
whether I'm dreaming or not. But--we've got it!"
"What's all this?" demanded Sir Cresswell. "You've got--that gold?"
"Less than an hour ago," replied the bank manager, dropping into a chair
and slapping his hand on his knees in his excitement, "a man who turned
out to be a greengrocer came with his cart to the bank and said he'd been
sent with nine boxes for delivery to us. Asked who had sent him he
replied that early this morning a lady whom he didn't know had asked him
to put the boxes in his shed until she called for them--she brought them
in a motor-car. This afternoon she called again at two o'clock, paid him
for the storage and for what he was to do, and instructed him to put the
boxes on his cart and bring them to us. Which," continued Mr. Elkin,
gleefully rubbing his hands together, "he did! With--this! And that, my
dear ladies and good gentlemen, is the most extraordinary document which,
in all my forty years' experience of banking matters, I have ever seen!"
He laid a dirty, crumpled half-sheet of cheap note-paper on the table at
which they were all sitting, and Copplestone, bending over it, read aloud
what was there written.
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