The Numbered Account by Ann Bridge Page A

read de Ritter’s letter; then turned back and read the date aloud
—‘C’est hier!’
Now thoroughly upset, he turned to Chambertin. ‘But this is impossible!’
    â€˜Oh no, Monsieur de Kessler—unfortunately it’s all too possible,’ Julia said. ‘You have been tricked by a gang of crooks.’
    The old man drew himself up (to Julia it was the most pitiable thing of all) and said:
    â€˜Mademoiselle, this does not happen with la Banque Républicaine!’
    â€˜Well, it has happened this time,’ Julia said crisply; she was sorry for the old man, but more important things than his feelings were at stake. She turned to Chambertin. ‘Do ring up Monsieur de Ritter now, and ask him if he really came in last week and signed Miss Armitage’s fortune away? That will settle it. I know he didn’t; but it may satisfy Monsieur de Kessler.’
    â€˜Mademoiselle, I accept
no
statements made over the telephone,’ de Kessler said angrily.
    â€˜Oh very well—then we must drag the wretched man down here.’
    Chambertin was fluttering the telephone book. ‘Fri-bourg is 037,’ Julia told him, ‘and La Cure is 1101.’ When the call came through she firmly took the receiver.
‘Allo? Ah, c’est toi, Germaine. Ici Julia. Est-ce que Jean-Pierre est là? Ah, très-bien—j’attends.’
She noted the effect of all these Christian names on the two bankers while she waited, receiver in hand. When Jean-Pierre came to the telephone she spoke rapidly in English. ‘Listen, I am at the bank. There has been a complete disaster, which I would rather not discuss on the telephone. Is there the least possibility that you could come down—this afternoon?’
    â€˜Only with great difficulty? Why?—what is happening?’
    â€˜We have been too slow. Those I spoke of have been ahead of us, and have gone off with everything. Someone else signed for them in your name.’
    â€˜But this could not happen! Both the men whose names I gave you know me perfectly well.’
    â€˜Of course they do. But unfortunately these persons must have known this too, and were sharp enough to ask for another director—
un charmant vieux monsieur qui ignorait les faits essentiels, et s’est laissé duper.’
Julia said the last words in French, deliberately—she saw that cheerful pink face become crimson.
    â€˜Le vieux de Kessler?’
came down the line.
    â€˜Exactement
. And he now refuses to accept any statementon the telephone—that is why I must put you to this trouble. I do apologise; it is not my fault.’
    There was a pause. At last—‘Yes, very well,’ the Pastor said. ‘Who received you?’
    â€˜Monsieur Chambertin.’
    â€˜Then please tell him I will be with him at half past four o’clock,
à peu près’
    â€˜I would rather you told him yourself’—and she handed the receiver over.
    The Pastor had a very resonant voice, and Julia could just hear his words.
‘Mon cher Alcide
, what are your co-directors up to? This is frightful, what has taken place. I shall be with you between four and half past, and please arrange for your colleague to be present, and see that we are given admittance. Tell Mademoiselle that I will call for her at her hotel on the way.’
    Chambertin transmitted both these messages, adding afterwards to de Kessler—‘
C’est bien Jean-Pierre
—I cannot mistake his voice.’
    Julia had been thinking as well as overhearing.
    â€˜Monsieur Chambertin, surely these people ought to be traced, if possible. Did they give Monsieur de Kessler any address?’
    De Kessler said only La Cure at Bellardon, and for the
demoiselle
an address in London. ‘
Chez une certaine Madame Conway, à Kensington.’
    â€˜That’s Aglaia’s aunt, of course—that’s no help. They gave no indication of their