mystified, syllable-less "le'r?"

"I wrote to say that if it suited your convenience to come to our
offices this afternoon at three, I would see to it that the other
heirs were present, Mr. Bingle."

"My wife's illness--" began Mr. Bingle hazily, and then brought
himself up with a jerk. Heirs? What in the world was the man talking
about? "I--I beg pardon, sir. I didn't quite catch that. What--"

Mr. Sigsbee held up his hand, silencing him. Then he turned to the
other gentlemen and said in a strained, excited voice:

"I suspect, gentlemen, that it would be better if I were to have a few
minutes alone with Mr. Bingle."

"Right!" exclaimed Mr. Force, regarding the bookkeeper with what
seemed to be infinite compassion in his eyes. "Stay right where you
are, Sigsbee. We'll get out," and he literally shoved the others out
of the office, closing the president's door behind him.

"Now, Mr. Bingle," said Sigsbee, drawing a chair up close to the
little man's knee, "I want the truth. Have you no--"

"Before heaven, Mr. Sigsbee, I--I swear I am innocent of--"

"Have you no inkling of what has befallen you?" concluded the other.

"No, sir, I haven't," declared Mr. Bingle with conviction.