A Canadian Bankclerk Part 28

The inspector spoke blandly to him, and politely refused to interrupt Mrs. Penton's party.

"Just you open up for us, Mr. Penton," he said, "and go back to your--customers! The staff and myself will get the work started."

Evan was watching not the inspector but the manager. Penton's eyes moved uneasily in their sockets, and he protested:

"Oh, no, they won't miss me. I'll jump right in with you."

Castle was delving in his bag.

"Well," he said, "I suppose you know them best; but I don't want to interfere with--business."

Penton laughed, relieved, at the remark, and hurried into his apartments to excuse himself. The party folk were awed by mention of the inspector, and their interest gave Penton an idea: he would introduce Castle to them. The inspector thought the suggestion a good one. Penton whispered him hints about the men whom he would present, so that Mr. Castle might know how to dispense his pretty words. Evan listened to those whisperings until they were silent in the hall that led to Penton's house, and an uncomfortable feeling crept over him.

The manager was currying Castle's favor.

Henty and Filter came out to the office before Penton and the inspector.

"What do you know about that!" cried Henty, crimson.

The teller smiled faintly. Filter's pallid face was glowing in antic.i.p.ation of coming balances. It was ten o'clock.

To Evan, who knew what a bank inspection meant, this one was particularly unwelcome. Inspections always are, to experienced clerks, who have no regard for the novelty of the thing; they mean from one to three weeks' work, day and night without let-up. But the blinding work is not the worst of it; the suspense is what unnerves and worries. A fellow never knows what moment he is going to get a figurative knock-out from the head office official. The inspector, if he happens to have indigestion or domestic trouble, can be appallingly disagreeable.

Henty had never been through the ordeal of an inspection, but he had heard about it. He stood now staring at the teller, comically.

"Gee," he said, "and old Peterson has had one of my drafts out for three days. A sight, too."

Filter was in a dream about the ledger. Evan was thinking. He did not like Inspector Castle; he felt that he could not expect much of him.

Still, he determined he would tell his story. Evan had no very definite conception, at the time, of what that story would be; and when Castle and Penton went over to the hotel for a drink, before setting to work, he wondered whether it would be advisable to speak about the silver at all.

Penton stayed close to the inspector, as though unwilling to leave him alone with the teller. Evan saw it plainly, but what could he do? It was not for him to thrust himself on I. Castle, or tell him whom he should or should not ignore. Ignored! that was it! The $350-man was beneath the notice of an inspector. It occurred to Evan now why head office had not answered his letter. What right had he to write head office? He could not, in this connection, forget the look Castle had given him at the bank door, with the words: "I came to inspect the branch."

The manager's efforts to please and a.s.sist the inspector were both pitiful and burlesque, to those who knew his daily habits. He wedged himself into the cage with Castle, handing him parcels of money to count, and playing the caddy to perfection. He lifted a bag of silver, and as he did so his bulging eyes rested waveringly on the teller, who was watching. At the same moment Evan heard his name spoken softly from the hall. Mrs. Penton was calling him.

"Mr. Nelson," she whispered, when they stood out of hearing in the shadow of the hall, "I want to ask you something."

Her patient face bore a frightened look, her eyes and voice were beseeching.

"What is it, Mrs. Penton?" he asked, kindly.

"It's about Pen," she said. "You'll try to help out, won't you?"

He wondered if she knew about the missing money. Had Penton told her?

"You mean about--about drink?"

"Yes," she answered, vaguely; "there's nothing--else--is--there?"

No, she did not know about the silver. Why had Penton not told her?

It seemed to Evan that she should have known about the loss, especially since her husband was putting up half of it. But he knew she would never suspect Penton of stealing, and therefore any reference to the shortage would be incomprehensible to her. If she thought the teller suspected her husband she would be heartbroken. Evan's thoughts flew.

After all, he had no proof that the manager had taken the silver, and before he voiced his suspicion to Mrs. Penton, or head office either, he must have proof.

She stood gazing at him, waiting for his promise. She looked so girlish and dependent he forgot danger and only remembered that a woman's happiness was at stake. It gave him a heroic impulse.

"I'll do all I can, Mrs. Penton," he said, quietly. "Things seem to have started off smoothly, and I think everything will be all right."

The young woman was in a party dress and a party humor. She took Evan's hands in her own and pressed them. "You are a dear," she whispered, and fluttered back to her guests.

Evan hated Penton at that moment more, perhaps, than he ever had--though not so much as he would hate him. The young wife's faith resolved the teller, however, to watch the manager instead of telling head office about his drunkenness. It was hardly likely Penton would get another chance to rob the cash; he was a coward and would be afraid to try again.

It surprised the teller to know that Mr. Castle would take a drink, particularly with Penton. Was it a trick of the inspector's? If it was, he would approach the teller before going back to Toronto. Evan would let it rest at that. He would not take the initiative, both on account of Castle's peculiar actions and Mrs. Penton's pleading.

At 2 a.m. Henty swore. It was a pretty early orgy, but A. P. probably felt justified, at that.

"When are they going to ring off?" he asked Nelson.

"I'm going now," said Evan; "my head is splitting."

Penton heard.

"Why didn't you say so before, old man," he said, softly; "we don't want our teller to go out of business."

Henty winked at Evan from behind the manager's back, and when Penton had eagerly answered a summons from the inspector, whispered:

"What's his game, I wonder?"

"If you stick around, A. P., you may find out."

"By Jove," said Henty, "I will stick--till the c.o.c.k crows!"

Nelson climbed the hill to his lodging. He lay in bed an hour before sleep came, and then dreams bothered him. They were nightmares; a confusion of figures, money and old a.s.sociations. He dreamt that he was an inspector and that Penton had taken him out for a drink, talking, the while, about swollen deposits, curtailed loans and expanding prospects. There was an unknown and unfortunate clerk mixed up in this dream; a queer, vague fellow.

Next morning A. P. left his lodging for work much earlier than usual.

He called on the teller, whom, for some reason, he desired to escort to the office. Evan was eating breakfast.

"Just up?" asked the junior.

"Yes," interposed Mrs. Terry, "and he should be in his bed. See how tired he looks, Mr. Henty."

Evan laughed.

"Mother would be jealous," he said, "if she knew how well Mrs. Terry treated me."

The kind woman smiled, pleased.

"I can't make much headway," she said, coughing, "for what I try to do the bank goes and undoes."

"That's true enough," interjected the teller.