“I know of no reason why he should not,” returned Bertram.
“I have something to say to him when he comes in,” stammered the man, evidently taken aback by Bertram’s look of surprise. “Will you be kind enough to ring the bell the first moment he seems to be at leisure? I don’t know as it is a matter of any importance but—” He stopped, evidently putting a curb upon himself. “Can I rely on you, sir?”
“Yes, certainly, I will tell my uncle when he comes in that you want to speak to him. He will doubtless send for you at once.”
The man looked embarrassed. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s just what I’d rather you wouldn’t do. Mr. Sylvester is always very busy and he might think I wished to annoy him about some matters of my own, sir, as indeed I have not been above doing at odd times. If you would ring when he comes in, that is all I ask.”
Bertram thought this a strange request, but seeing the man so anxious, gave the required promise, and the janitor hurried off. “Curious!” muttered Bertram. “Can anything be wrong?” And he glanced about him with some curiosity as he went to his desk. But everyone was at his post as usual and the countenances of all were equally undisturbed.
It was a busy morning and in the rush of various matters Bertram forgot the entire occurrence. But it was presently recalled to him by hearing someone remark, “Mr. Sylvester is late today,” and looking up from some papers he was considering, he found it was a full hour after the time at which his uncle was in the habit of appearing. Just then he caught still another sight of the protruding eyes of Hopgood staring in upon him from the half-opened door at the end of the bank.
“The fellow’s getting impatient,” thought he, and experienced a vague feeling of uneasiness.
Another half hour passed. “What can have detained Mr. Sylvester?” cried Mr. Wheelock the cashier, hastily approaching Bertram.
“There is to be an important meeting of the Directors today, and some of the gentlemen are already coming in. Mr. Sylvester is not accustomed to keep us waiting.”
“I don’t know, I am sure,” returned Bertram, remembering with an accession of uneasiness, the abruptness with which his uncle had left the entertainment the evening before.
“Shall I telegraph to the house?”
“No, that is not necessary. Besides Folger says he passed him on Broadway this morning.”
“Going down street with a valise in his hand,” that gentlemen quietly put in. Folger was the teller. “He was looking very pale and didn’t see me when I nodded.”
“What time was that?” asked Bertram.
“About twelve; when I went out to lunch.”
A quick gasp sounded at their side, followed by a hurried cough. Turning, Bertram encountered for the fifth time the eyes of Hopgood. He had entered unperceived by the small door that separated the inner enclosure from the outer, and was now standing very close to them, eying with sidelong looks the safe at their back, the faces of the gentleman speaking, yes, and even the countenances of the clerks, as they bent busily over their books.
“Did you ring, sir?” asked he, catching Bertram’s look of displeasure.
“No.”
The man seemed to feel the rebuke implied in this short response, and ambled softly away. But in another moment he was stopped by Bertram.
“What is the matter with you today, Hopgood? Can you have anything of real importance on your mind; anything connected with my uncle?”
The janitor started, and looked almost frightened. “Be careful what you say,” whispered he; then with a keen look at Mr. Wheelock just then on the point of entering the directors’ room, he was turning to escape by the little door just mentioned, when it opened and Mr. Stuyvesant came in. With a look almost of terror the janitor recoiled, throwing himself as it were between the latter and the door of the safe; but recovering himself, surveyed the keen quiet visage of the veteran banker with a rolling of his great eyes absolutely painful to behold. Mr. Stuyvesant, who was somewhat absorbed in thought, did not appear to notice the agitation he had caused, and with just a hurried nod followed Mr. Wheelock into the Directors’ room. Instantly the janitor drew himself up with an air of relief, and shortly glancing at the clock which lacked a few minutes yet of the time fixed for the meeting, slided hastily away from Bertram’s detaining hand, and disappeared in the crowd without. In another moment Bertram saw him standing at the outer door, looking anxiously up and down the street.
“Something is wrong,” murmured Bertram. “What?” And for a moment he felt half tempted to return Mr. Stuyvesant’s friendly bow with a few words expressive of his uneasiness, but the emphasis with which Hopgood had murmured the words, “Be careful what you say,” unconsciously deterred him, and concealing his nervousness as best he might, he entered the Directors’ office.
It was now time for the meeting to open, and the gentlemen were all seated around the low green baize table that occupied the centre
