He snatched his hat and ran out of the room, followed by the others.  That the loose-jointed Slapjack did his work with expedition was evidenced by the fact that the Swedes were close upon their heels as the two entered the bank.  Others had followed, sensing something unusual, and the space within the doors filled rapidly.  At the disturbance the clerks suspended their work, the barred doors of the safe-deposit vault clanged to, and the cashier laid hand upon the navy Colt’s at his elbow.  “What’s the matter?” he cried.

“We want Alec McNamara,” said Glenister.

The manager of the bank appeared, and Glenister spoke to him through the heavy wire netting.

“Is McNamara in there?”

No one had ever known Morehouse to lie.  “Yes, sir.”  He spoke hesitatingly, in a voice full of the slow music of Virginia.  “He is in here.  What of it?”

“We hear he’s trying to move that dust of ours and we won’t stand for it.  Tell him to come out and not hide in there like a dog.”

At these words the politician appeared beside the Southerner, and the two conversed softly an instant, while the impatience of the crowd grew to anger.  Some one cried: 

“Let’s go in and drag him out,” and the rumble at this was not pleasant.  Morehouse raised his hand.

“Gentlemen, Mr. McNamara says he doesn’t intend to take any of the gold away.”

“Then he’s taken it already.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

The receiver’s course had been quickly chosen at the interruption.  It was not wise to anger these men too much.  Although he had planned to get the money into his own possession, he now thought it best to leave it here for the present.  He could come back at any time when they were off guard and get it.  Beyond the door against which he stood lay three hundred thousand dollars—­ weighed, sacked, sealed, and ready to move out of the custody of this Virginian whose confidence he had tried so fruitlessly to gain.

As McNamara looked into the angry eyes of the lean-faced men beyond the grating, he felt that the game was growing close, and his blood tingled at the thought.  He had not planned on a resistance so strong and swift, but he would meet it.  He knew that they hungered for his destruction and that Glenister was their leader.  He saw further that the man’s hatred now stared at him openly for the first time.  He knew that back of it was something more than love for the dull metal over which they wrangled, and then a thought came to him.

“Some of your work, eh, Glenister?” he mocked.  “Were you afraid to come alone, or did you wait till you saw me with a lady?”

At the same instant he opened a door behind him, revealing Helen Chester.  “You’d better not walk out with me, Miss Chester.  This man might—­well, you’re safer here, you know.  You’ll pardon me for leaving you.”  He hoped he could incite the young man to some rash act or word in the presence of the girl, and counted on the conspicuous heroism of his own position, facing the mob single-handed, one against fifty.