"Have you been to a solicitor?" Wrayson asked.
"Not yet," the young man answered. "I don't see what good he'll be when I do. Morris was always one of the close sort, and I can't fancy him spending much over lawyers."
"What made you come to me?" Wrayson inquired.
"Well, the caretaker at the flat told me that you and Morris used to speak now and then, and I'm trying every one. I'm afraid he wasn't quite classy enough for you to have palled up with, but I thought he might have let something slip perhaps."
Wrayson shook his head.
"He never spoke to me of his affairs," he said. "He always seemed to have plenty of money, though."
"Doesn't the bank-book prove it?" the young man exclaimed excitedly. "Every one who knew anything about him says the same. There was I half starved in Cape Town, and here was he spending two thousand a year. Beast, he was! I'll find out where it came from if it takes me a lifetime."
Wrayson leaned back in his chair. Nothing since the events of that night itself had appealed to him more than the coming of this young man and his strange story.
"I am sorry that I have no information to give you," he said. "On the other hand, if I can help you in any other way I shall be very glad."
"What should you advise me to do?" the young man asked.