He sent a clerk and succeeded in obtaining eight thousand dollars for five days, by depositing the notes.

“If worst comes to worst, I have nine thousand to fall back upon.  Now, what next?  Fletcher’s note for five hundred, with the rather peculiar admission at the beginning.  I wonder, now, what he would give for this little paper?  Possibly he is in funds.  He’s a scheming devil and hasn’t been idle in this gale of wind.  I’ll send for him.”

Fletcher entered with an air of confidence.

“Well, Mr. Sandford, you don’t bear malice, I see.  If you didn’t want to get a saucy answer, you shouldn’t have threatened, the other day.”

“You were hardly civil, Fletcher,” said Sandford, gravely, “and rather forgetful, besides.  If I were you, I wouldn’t bluster until a certain piece of paper was safe in my possession.”

“Do you suppose I ever forget that paper, or how you bullied it out of me?  But you know that at the time when I used that five hundred dollars, I had money enough, and felt as sure of returning it the next day as you do of paying the ten thousand you had of Monroe.”

Sandford started.

“How did you know whose money I had?”

“Never mind.  I hear a great many things.  As I was saying, I didn’t steal the money, for you didn’t miss it till I told you; and if I hadn’t been a coward and a fool to boot, I should never have signed that cursed paper.”

“I have it, though.  The law calls it a confession of theft.”

Fletcher winced.

“You have told me that often enough before.  You needn’t touch me on the raw to make me remember it.”

He waited, but Sandford made no reply.  Fletcher continued:—­

“Well, what is it?  You’ve something on hand, or you wouldn’t have sent for me.”

“You propose to pay sometime, I believe?”

“Of course, I do.  I’ve offered to pay times enough, you know.  I can get the money in ten minutes.”

“Can you!  How much?”

“Why, the five hundred and interest.”

“I rather think the document is worth more money.”

“You’d take my heart’s blood for it, I know.  But you can’t get any more money than I have got.”

“You were very ready in promising five hundred in ten minutes.  It seems to me that in an hour you might raise a larger sum.”

“Do you suppose I am a capitalist?—­that I own Fogarty, Danforth, and Dot?”

“I’m sure, I can’t tell.  Stranger things have happened.”

“I wonder if he suspects my connection with old Bullion?” thought Fletcher.

“I’ll make you a fair proposition, Fletcher.  I need some money, for a few days.  Get me thirty thousand dollars for a week, say; I’ll pay a liberal interest and give up the paper.”

“I can’t do it.  The figure is altogether above me.  You don’t want me to rob my employers?”

“‘Rob’ is a hard word, Fletcher.  No, I counsel no crime.  You don’t want anything more to think of.  But you may know some chance to borrow that sum?”