AMES THORPE ALLINGHAM was sixty years old; his compactly molded face and dark eyes, in which there was often an ironic expression, showed few marks of time; but his close-cut, silvered hair betrayed him. He was a slightly-built man, little above medium height, but wiry and active, yet with a vein of the voluptuous, indolent Oriental in him. His bristly, short beard, trimmed to a point in the French style, had more of the original black in it than his hair. A fire was wont to sparkle from his eyes, intolerantly if he were annoyed or opposed; but imperiously and audaciously, under the influence of beautiful women. His small head was packed full of a fine and strong brain, clear, cold and penetrating; acting upon his emotional nature, it had made him skeptical; a deep sense of humor wrought the skepticism into a chuckling, disconcerting mockery. He dominated most men, and no woman who had known him well ever forgot him.
He was a university graduate, a reader of books of science, familiar with good literature, of bold views, independent in thought. He had the finest breeding, easy, confident and quiet. He dressed correctly, but wore his clothes carelessly. He had inherited a fortune from his father, had taken up banking twenty-five years ago, and achieved more wealth. A first wife had died while he was in his early thirties; he had married again at forty, and had a daughter now nineteen years old, whom he loved. His present wife, a religious, simple woman, had brought him this daughter and money, but nothing else that he valued. He was a man of power and leading in the city of Pennborough, where he had lived since founding his bank. He had been offered, and had refused, high political preferment. He lived like a prince in his big house on Curzon street. In business he was thought keen but conservative, and his financial credit was unquestioned. The Roystone National Bank was the best bank in the city, and the best people kept their accounts at it.
Olympia Allingham had had her coming-out party a few weeks before this narrative begins. he was a handsome, innocent, tender-hearted, high-spirited girl, with dark hair and blue eyes. She loved her father devotedly, and honored him religiously. At the time of her coming-out, her engagement to Stephen Bentinck, a young physician of ability and reputation, had been announced. It was a love-match. Stephen had a good practice, but was not rich; but Allingham favored him, and the financial path would be made smooth for the young couple. It was now early June; they were to be married in October.
Allingham sat in his private office, though it was after banking hours; for Eugene Calverly, the cashier, had said he wished to speak with him that afternoon. Calverly, a man of forty, had entered the bank young, as a clerk, and in fifteen years had attained his. present position. He was methodical, intelligent, and perfectly trustworthy. His deep-set gray eyes were steady; his utterance meas and emphatic. His mind plodded where Allingham's leaped or flew; but the latter knew his value. Allingham was accustomed to rally him and break jests upon him, but he respected him. He was also aware that Calverly loved Olympia with a worshiping passion, the only one of his sober life. It had probably never been other than a hopeless passion; certainly, Allingham himself, ever since he had surmised it, had always frankly discouraged and even ridiculed it. Olympia had never known anything of the matter; she was very kind and familiar with poor Calverly. He had sometimes held her in his arms when she was a baby; she did not suspect what he would have given to do so now. This was one of the silent, honorable tragedies. When the engagement between her and Stephen Bentinck was made known, Calverly seemed to become more round-shouldered and methodical, but he said nothing.
The theme of his present interview with the president of the bank was not an agreeable one, but it had to do with business, not romance. We need not follow it in detail. Owing to various causes, capital had been flowing away from the bank, and little had been coming in. The balance on hand was dangerously small. Unless this situation were soon changed for the better, calamity was at hand. No breath of suspicion had as yet blown upon the credit of the institution; but were a few large depositors to draw heavily, the secret would out. That was the gist of his statement. Had Mr. Allingham any suggestions or information to give?
The banker's pointed, aggressive chin seemed to thrust out through his grizzled beard as he turned on his cashier with a smile, looking him in the eyes.