"That'll do, Sir Gordon," said the farmer, tearing up the cheque he held in his hand, and scattering it over his head. "I'll tak' Sir Gordon's word or Dixons' if they say it's all right. I don't want my bra.s.s."

"Gentlemen," said Sir Gordon, flashing slightly, "if you will trust me and my dear old friend Mr Dixon, you shall be paid all demands to the last penny we have. I am sorry to say that I have discovered a very heavy defalcation on the part of our late manager, and the loss will be large, but that loss will fall upon us, gentlemen, not upon you."

"But I want my deeds, my writings," cried a voice. "I'm not a-going to be cheated out o' my rights."

"Who is that?" said Sir Gordon.

"Mr Gemp, Sir Gordon," said Thickens quickly. "Deposit of deeds of row of houses in Rochester Close; and shares."

"Mr Gemp," said Sir Gordon, "I am afraid your deeds are amongst others that are missing."

"Ay! Ay! Robbers! Robbers!" shouted Gemp excitedly.

"No, Mr Gemp, we are not robbers," said Sir Gordon. "If you will employ your valuer, I will employ ours; and as soon as they have decided the amount, Mr James Thickens will pay you--to-day if you can get the business done, and the houses and shares are Dixons'."

"Hear, hear, hear," shouted Anderson. "There, neighbour, he can't say fairer than that."

"Nay, I want my writings, and I don't want to sell. I want my writings.

I'll hev 'em too."

"Shame on you, Gemp," said a voice behind him. "Three days ago you were at death's door. Your life was spared, and this is the thank-offering you make to your neighbours in their trouble."

"Nay, don't you talk like that, parson, thou doesn't know what it is to lose thy all," piped Gemp.

"Lose?" cried Bayle, who had entered the bank quietly to see Sir Gordon.

"Man, I have lost heavily too."

Thickens was making signs to him now with his quill pen.

"Ay, but I want my writings. I'll hev my writings," cried Gemp.

"Neighbours, you have your money. Don't you believe 'em. They're robbers."

"If I weer close to thee, owd Gemp, I'd tak' thee by the scruff and the band o' thy owd breeches and pitch thee out o' window. Sir Gordon's ready to do the handsome thing."

"Touch me if you dare," cried old Gemp. "I want my writings. It was bank getting unsafe made me badly. You neighbours have all thy money out, for they haven't got enough to last long."

There was a fresh murmur here, and Sir Gordon looked anxious. Mr Anderson stood fast; but it was evident that a strong party were waiting for their money, and more than one began to twitch Thickens by the sleeve, and present cheques and notes.

Thickens paid no heed, but made his way to where Christie Bayle was standing, and handed him a pocket-book.

"Here," he said. "I couldn't come to you. I had to watch the bank."

"My pocket-book, Thickens?"

"Yes, sir. I was just in time to knock that scoundrel over as he was throttling you. I'd come to meet the coach."

"Why, Thickens!" cried Bayle, flushing--"Ah, you grasping old miser!

What! turn thief?"

The latter was to old Gemp, who saw the pocket-book pa.s.sed, and made a hawk-like clutch at it, but his wrist was pinned by Bayle, who took the pocket-book and slipped it into his breast.

"It's my papers--it's writings--it's--"

His voice was drowned in a clamour that arose, as about twenty more people came hurrying in at the bank-door, eager to make demands for their deposits.

Sir Gordon grew pale, for there was not enough cash in the house to meet the constant demand, and he had hoped that the ready payment of a great deal would quiet the run.

The clamour increased, and it soon became evident that the dam had given way, and that nothing remained but to go on paying to the last penny in the bank, while there was every possibility of wreck and destruction following.

"Howd hard, neighbours," cried Anderson; "Sir Gordon says it's all right. Dixons' 'll pay."

"Dixons' can't pay," shouted a voice. "Hallam's got everything, and the bank's ruined."

There was a roar here, and the fire seemed to have been again applied to the tow. Thickens looked in despair at Bayle, and then with a quick movement locked the cash drawer, and clapped the key in his pocket. The action was seen. There was a yell of fury from the crowd in front, and a dozen hands seized the clerk.

Sir Gordon darted forward, this time without pistols, and hands and sticks were raised, when in a voice of thunder Christie Bayle roared:

"Stop!"

There was instant silence, for he had leaped upon the bank counter.

"Stand back!" he said, "and act like Christian men, and not like wild beasts. Dixons' Bank is sound. Look here!"

"It's failed! it's failed!" cried a dozen voices.

"It has not failed," shouted Bayle. "Look here: I have been to London."

"Yes, we know."

"To fetch twenty-one thousand pounds--my own property!"

There was dead silence here.

"Look! that is the money, all in new Bank of England notes."

He tore them out of the large pocket-book.

"To show you my confidence in Dixons' Bank and in Sir Gordon Bourne's word, I deposit this sum with them, and open an account. Mr Thickens, have the goodness to enter this to my credit; I'll take a chequebook when you are at liberty."

He pa.s.sed the sheaf of rustling, fluttering, new, crisp notes to the cashier, and then, taking Sir Gordon's offered hand, leaped down inside the counter of the bank.

"There, Sir Gordon," he said, with a smile, "I hope the plague is stayed."

"Christie Bayle," whispered Sir Gordon huskily, "Heaven bless you! I shall never forget this day!" Half-an-hour later the bank business was going on as usual, but the business of the past night and morning was more talked of than before.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

IN MISERY'S DEPTHS.