It was to Clement's credit that, had his object been to save his father's bank, instead of to do that which might deprive it of its last hope, he could not have struggled onward through the press more stoutly than he did. But though the offices for which he was bound, situate in one of the courts north of Cornhill, were no more than a third of a mile from the point at which he had dismissed his chaise, the city clocks had long struck twelve before, wresting himself from the human flood, which panic and greed were driving through the streets, he turned into this quiet backwater.

He stood for a moment to take breath and adjust his dress, and even in that brief space he discovered that the calm was but comparative. Many of the windows which looked on the court were raised, as if the pent-up emotions of their occupants craved air and an outlet even on that December day; and from these and from the open doors below issued a dropping fire of sounds, the din of raised voices, of doors recklessly slammed, of feet thundering on bare stairs, of harsh orders. Clerks rushing into the court, hatless and demented, plunged into clerks rushing out equally demented, yet flew on their course without look or word, as if unconscious of the impact. From a lighted window--many were lit up, for the court was small and the day foggy--a hat, even as Clement paused, flew out and bounded on the pavement. But no one heeded it or followed it, and it was a passing clerk who came hurrying out a little less recklessly than his fellows, whom Clement, after a moment's hesitation, seized by the arm. "Mr. Bourdillon here?" he asked imperatively--for he saw that in no other way could he gain attention.

"Mr. Bourdillon!" the man snapped. "Oh, I don't know! Here, Cocky Sands! Attend to this gentleman! Le' me go! Le' me go. D' you hear?"

He tore himself free, and was gone while he spoke, leaving Clement to climb the stairs. On the landing he encountered another clerk, whom he supposed to be "Cocky Sands," and he attacked him. "Mr. Bourdillon? Is he here?" he asked.

But Mr. Sands eluded him, shouted over his shoulder for "Tom!" and clattered down the stairs. "Can't wait!" he flung behind him. "Find some one!"

However, Clement lost nothing by this, for the next moment one of the partners appeared at a door. Clement knew him, and "Is Mr. Bourdillon here?" he cried for the third time, and he seized the broker by the button-hole. He, at any rate, should not escape him.

"Mr. Bourdillon?" The broker stared, unable on the instant to recall his thoughts, and from the way in which he wiped his bald and steaming head with a yellow bandanna, it was plain that he had just got something of moment off his mind. "Pheugh! What times!" he ejaculated, fanning himself and breathing hard. "What a morning! You've heard, I suppose? Everitt's are gone. Gone within the hour, d--n them! Oh, Bourdillon? It was Bourdillon you asked for? To be sure, it's Mr. Ovington, isn't it? I thought so; I never forget a face, but he didn't tell me that you were here. By Jove!" He raised his hands--he was a portly gentleman, wearing a satin under-vest and pins and chains innumerable, all at this moment a little awry. "By Jove, what a find you have there! Slap, bang, and tip to the mark, and no mistake! Hard and sharp as nails! I take off my hat to him! There's not a firm," mopping his heated face anew, "within half a mile of us that wouldn't be glad to have him! I'll take my Davy there are not ten men in country practice could have pushed the deal through, and squeezed eleven thousand in cash out of Snell & Higgins on such a day as this! He's a marvel, Mr. Ovington! You can tell your father I said so, and I don't care who says the contrary."

"But is he here?" Clement cried, dancing with impatience. "Is he here, man?"

"Gone to the India House this--" he looked at his watch--"this half-hour, to complete. He had to drop seven per cent. for cash on the nail--that, of course! But he got six thousand odd in Bank paper, and five thou. in gold, and I'm damned if any one else would have got that to-day, though the stuff he had was as good as the ready in ordinary times. My partner's gone with him to Leadenhall Street to complete--glad to oblige you, for God knows how many clients we shall have left after this--and they've a hackney coach waiting in Bishopsgate and an officer to see them to it. You may catch him at the India House, or he may be gone. He's not one to let the grass grow under his feet. In that case----"

"Send a clerk with me to show me the Office!" Clement cried. "It's urgent, man, urgent! And I don't know my way inside the House. I must catch him."

"Well, with so much money--here, Nicky!" The broker stepped aside to make room for a client who came up the stairs three at a time. "Nicky, go with this gentleman! Show him the way to the India House. Transfer Office--Letter G! Sharp's the word. Don't lose time.--Coming! Coming!" to some one in the office. "My compliments to your father. He's one of the lucky ones, for I suppose this will see you through. It's Boulogne or this--" he made as if he held a pistol to his head--"for more than I care to think of!"

But Clement had not waited to hear the last words. He was half-way down the stairs with his hand on the boy's collar. They plunged into Cornhill, but the lad, a London-bred urchin, did not condescend to the street for more than twenty yards or so. Then he dived into a court on the same side of the way, crossed it, threaded a private passage through some offices, and came out in Bishopsgate Street. Stemming the crowd as best they could they crossed this, and by another alley and more offices the lad convoyed his charge into Leadenhall Street. A last rush saw them landed, panting and with their coats wellnigh torn from their backs, on the pavement on the south side of the street, in front of the pillared entrance, and beneath the colossal Britannia that, far above their heads and flanked by figures of Europe and Asia, presided over the fortunes of the greatest trading company that the world has ever seen. Through the doors of that building--now, alas, no more--had passed all the creators of an oriental empire, statesmen, soldiers, merchant princes, Clive, Lawrence, Warren Hastings, Cornwallis. Yet to-day, the mention of it calls up as often the humble figure of a black-coated white-cravated clerk with spindle legs and a big head, who worked within its walls and whom Clement, had he called a few months earlier, might have met coming from his desk.

Here Clement, had he been without a guide, would have wasted precious minutes. But the place had no mysteries for the boy, even on this day of confusion and alarm. Skilled in every twist and turning, he knew no doubt. "This way," he snapped, hurrying down a long passage which faced the entrance, and appeared to penetrate into the bowels of the building. Then, "No! Not that way, stupid! What are you doing?"

But Clement's eyes, as he followed, had caught sight of a party of three, who, issuing from a corridor on the right at a considerable distance before them, had as quickly disappeared down another corridor on the left. The light was not good, but Clement had recognized one of them, and "There he is!" he cried. "He has gone down there! Where does that lead to?"

"Lime Street entrance!" the lad replied curtly, and galloped after the party, Clement at his heels. "Hurry!" he threw over his shoulder, "or they'll be out, and, by gum, you'll lose him! Once out and we're done, sir!"

They reached the turning the others had taken and ran down it. The distance was but short, but it was long enough to enable Clement to collect his wits, and to wonder, while he prepared himself for the encounter that impended, how Arthur would bear himself at the moment of discovery. Fortunately, the party pursued had paused for an instant in the east vestibule before committing themselves to the street, and that instant was fatal to them. "Bourdillon!" Clement cried, raising his voice. "Hi! Bourdillon!"

Arthur turned as if he had been struck, saw him and stared, his mouth agape. "The devil!" he ejaculated.

But to Clement's surprise his face betrayed neither the guilt nor the fear which he had expected to see, but only amazement that the other should be there--and some annoyance. "You?" he said. "What the devil are you doing here? What joke is this? Did your father think that I could not be trusted to see things through? Or that you were likely to do better?"

"I want a word with you," said Clement. He was in no mood to mince matters.

"But why are you here?" with rising anger. "Why have you come after me? What's up?"

"I'll tell you, if you'll step aside."

"You can tell me on the coach, then, for I have no time to lose now. I mean to catch the three o'clock coach, and----"

"No!" Clement said firmly. "I must speak to you here."

But on that the broker interposed, his watch in his hand, "Anyway, I can stop," he said. "Who is this gentleman?"

"Mr. Ovington, junior," Arthur said, with something of a sneer. "I don't know what he has come up for, but----"

"But, at any rate, he'll see you safe to the coach," the other rejoined. "And I must be off. I give you joy of it, Mr. Bourdillon. Fine work! Fine work, by Jove! And I shall tell Mr. Ovington so when I see him. You're a marvel! My compliments to your father, young gentleman," addressing Clement. "Glad to have met you, but I can't stay now. Fifty things to do, and no time to do 'em in. The world's upside down to-day. Good morning! Good morning!" With a wave of the hand, his watch in the other, he turned on his heel and strode back towards the main entrance.

The two looked at one another and the third, who made up the party, a burly man in a red waistcoat and a curly-brimmed Regency hat, surveyed them both. "Well, I'm hanged," Arthur exclaimed, reverting sourly to his first surprise. "Is everybody mad? Must you all come to town? I should have thought that you'd have had enough to do at the bank without this! But as you must----" then to the officer, who was carrying a small leather valise, the duplicate of one which Arthur held in his hand--"wait a minute, will you? And keep an eye on us. We shall not be a minute. Now," drawing Clement into a corner of the lodge, five or six paces away, where, though a stream of people continually brushed by them, they could talk with some degree of privacy. "What is it, man? What is it? What has bought you up? And how the deuce have you come to be here--by this time?"

"I posted."

"Posted? From Aldersbury? In heaven's name, why? Why, man?"

Clement pointed to the bag. "To take that over," he said.

"This? Take this over?" Arthur turned a deep red. "What--what the devil do you mean, man?"

"You ought to know."

"I?"

"Yes, you," Clement retorted, his temper rising. "It's stolen property, if you will have it." And he braced himself for the fray.

"Stolen property?"

"Just that. And my father has commissioned me to take charge of it, and to restore it to its owner. Now you know."

For one moment the handsome face, looking into his, lost some of its color. But the next, Arthur recovered himself, the blood flowed back to his cheeks, he laughed aloud, laughed in defiance. "Why, you--you fool!" he replied, in bitter contempt, "I don't know what you are talking about. Your father--your father has sent you?"

"It's no good, Bourdillon," Clement answered. "It's all known. I've seen the Squire. He missed the certificates yesterday afternoon--almost as soon as you were gone. He sent for you, I went over, and he knows all."

He thought that that would finish the matter. To his astonishment Arthur only laughed afresh. "Knows all, does he?" he replied. "Well, what of it? And he found out through you, did he? Then a pretty fool you were to put your oar in! To go to him, or see him, or talk to him! Why, man," with bravado, though Clement fancied that his eyes wavered and that the brag began to ring false, "what have I done? Borrowed his money for a month, that's all! Taken a loan of it for a month or two--and for what? Why, to save your father and you and the whole lot of us. Ay, and half Aldersbury from ruin! I did it and I'd do it again! And he knows it, does he? Through your d--d interfering folly, who could not keep your mouth shut, eh! Well, if he does, what then? What can he do, simpleton?"

"That's to be seen."

"Nothing! Nothing, I tell you! He signed the transfer, signed it with his own hand, and he can't deny it. The rest is just his word against mine."

"No, it's Miss Griffin's, too," Clement said, marvelling at the other's attitude and his audacity--if audacity it could be called.

But ............