Kenyon?'
'No, I have not--at least, not for half an hour or so.'
'Well, I would go there as soon as possible, if I were you.'
'That means,' said Von Brent, as soon as they had reached the door, 'that
they have had their notice about the money. I believe it is already in
the bank for you. I will go back to my rooms and not leave them till you
come.'
John hurried to the telegraph-office.
'Anything for me yet?' he said.
'Nothing as yet, Mr. Kenyon; I think, however,' he added with a smile,
'that it will be all right. I hope so.'
The moments ticked along with their usual rapidity, yet it seemed to
Kenyon the clock was going fearfully fast. Eleven o'clock came and found
him still pacing up and down the office of the telegraph. The operator
offered him the hospitality of the private room, but this he declined.
Every time the machine clicked, John's ears were on the alert, trying to
catch a meaning from the instrument.
Ten minutes after eleven!
Twenty minutes after eleven, and still no despatch! The cold perspiration
stood on John's brow, and he groaned aloud.
'I suppose it's very important,' said the operator.
'_Very_ important.'
'Well, now, I shouldn't say so, but I know the money is in the bank for
you. Perhaps if you went up there and demanded it, they would give it to
you.'
It was twenty-five minutes past the hour when John hurried towards the
bank.
'I have every belief,' he said to the cashier, 'that the money is here
for me now.
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