“What made you look them all up?” Jacob asked curiously.
“I’m damned if I know,” was the candid reply. “All the same, I’m here to look after you a bit, you know, old dear, and when you’re parting with the dibs to the tune of a hundred thousand quid, you need some one around with his weather eye open.”
Jacob smiled tolerantly.
“That’s all right, Felix,” he agreed, “but remember I’m parting with it under my brother’s roof, to his own stockbrokers, on the advice of his own private secretary and physician. Morse wouldn’t even have the cheque made payable to him.”
“Looks as right as a trivet,” the young man assented, “but I’m one of those chaps with instincts, you know, and I’m damned if I like Morse. I shall try and get him canned to-night.”
“I beg that you won’t do any such thing,” Jacob objected hastily. “It is probably most necessary for my brother’s interests that he should remain in good health. Besides, you’ll get into trouble yourself if you don’t mind.”
A smile almost of pity parted the young man’s lips.
“Don’t you worry,” he murmured. “It’d take half a dozen Morses, and then some, to sew me up.”