Anson led his friends from the room. He thanked the manager for the assistance he had given, and told him the affair might be arranged without police interference.
Long and earnestly did he confer with Mr. Abingdon. It was a serious thing to let these men off scot-free. Grenier's case was worse, in a sense, than that of Mason.
There were three banks involved, and, forgery, to a bank, is a crime not to be forgiven. There was a dubious way out. Philip might accept responsibility for Grenier's transactions. If the London bank accepted Grenier's signature for his, surely the local institutions would accept his for Grenier's.
Mr. Abingdon was wroth at the bare suggestion.
"You will be forging your own name," he protested, vehemently.
"Very well, then. He shall write checks payable to self or order, indorse them, and I will pay them into my account."
"I dare not approve of any such procedure."
So Philip, though sorely tried, again labored his arguments that the trial of Grenier would be a cause _célèbre_ in which his, Anson's, name would be unpleasantly prominent. Evelyn would be drawn into it, and Abingdon himself. There would be columns of sensation in the newspapers.
Moreover, it was quite certain that Jocky Mason would commit suicide unless they captured him by a subterfuge, and then the whole story would leak out.
It ended by Philip gaining the day, for, at the bottom of his heart, Abingdon was touched by Mason's story--thoroughpaced ruffian though he was.
They re-entered No. 41. The pair were sitting as they were left; Grenier was not even smoking. The affair of the Blue Atom had deeply wounded his vanity.
Philip walked straight to Mason, and took him by the shoulder.
"Now, listen to me," he said. "I gave you one crack on the head, and you have given me one. Shall we say that accounts are squared?"
"Then, all I can say is this, sir. During the rest of my life I'll make good use of the chance you have given me. God bless you, for my boys' sake, more than my own."
"And you," went on Philip, turning to the disconsolate Grenier. "Will you leave England and make a fresh start in a new land? You are young enough, and clever enough, in some respects, to earn an honest living."
The utter collapse of his castle in Spain had sobered him. The gates of Portland were yawning open for him, and the goodness of the man he had wronged had closed them in his face. Never again would he see their grim front if he could help it.