General assent had proclaimed a suspension of commerce on this auspicious day, and I found Jones sitting idle and ill at ease.  I explained to him the state of affairs, showing how the President’s dishonorable scheme had compelled me, in the interests of the bank, to take a more or less active part in the revolution.  It was pathetic to hear him bewail the villainy of the man he had trusted, and when I produced the money he blessed me fervently, and at once proposed writing to the directors a full account of the matter.

“They are bound to vote you an honorarium, sir,” he said.

“I don’t know, Jones,” I replied.  “I am afraid there is a certain prejudice against me at headquarters.  But in any case I have resolved to forego the personal advantage that might accrue to me from my conduct.  President McGregor has made a strong representation to me that the schemes of General Whittingham, if publicly known, would, however unjustly, prejudice the credit of Aureataland, and he appealed to me not to give particulars to the world.  In matters such as these, Jones, we cannot be guided solely by selfish considerations.”

“God forbid, sir!” said Jones, much moved.

“I have, therefore, consented to restrict myself to a confidential communication to the directors; they must judge how far they will pass it on to the shareholders.  To the world at large I shall say nothing of the second loan; and I know you will oblige me by treating this money as the product of realizations in the ordinary course of business.  The recent disturbances will quite account for so large a sum being called in.”

“I don’t quite see how I can arrange that.”

“Ah, you are overdone,” said I.  “Leave it all to me, Jones.”

And this I persuaded him to do.  In fact, he was so relieved at seeing the money back that he was easy to deal with; and if he suspected anything, he was overawed by my present exalted position.  He appeared to forget what I could not, that the President, no doubt, still possessed that fatal cable!

After lunch I remembered my engagement with the signorina, and, putting on my hat, was bidding farewell to business, when Jones said: 

“There’s a note just come for you, sir.  A little boy brought it while you were out at lunch.”

He gave it me—­a little dirty envelope, with an illiterate scrawl.  I opened it carelessly, but as my eye fell on the President’s hand, I started in amazement.  The note was dated “Saturday—­From on board The Songstress,” and ran as follows: 

“Dear Mr. Martin:  I must confess to having underrated your courage and abilities.  If you care to put them at my disposal now, I will accept them.  In the other event, I must refer you to my public announcement.  In any case it may be useful to you to know that McGregor designs to marry Signorina Nugent.  I fear that on my return it will be hardly consistent with my public duties to spare your life (unless you accept