The Baroness nodded thoughtfully.
"He told me once that he was worth as much as that," she remarked,
"Exactly, but the curious part of the affair is that, up to the present, Mr. Sydney Barnes has been unable to discover the slightest trace of any investments or any sum of money whatever. Now can you help us? Did Morris Barnes ever happen to mention to you in what direction his capital was invested? Did he ever give you any idea at all as to the source of his income?"
The Baroness stood quite still, as though lost in thought. Wrayson watched her with a curious sense of fascination. He knew very well that the subtle brain of the woman was occupied in no fruitless attempt at reminiscence; he was convinced that the Baroness had never exchanged a single word with Morris Barnes in her life. She was thinking her way through this problem—how best to make use of this unexpected tool. Their eyes met and she smiled faintly. She judged rightly that Wrayson, at any rate, was not deceived.
"I cannot give you any definite information," she said at last, "but—"
She hesitated, and the young man's eagerness escaped all bounds.
"But what?" he cried, leaning breathlessly towards her. "You know something! What is it? Go on! Go on!"
"I think that if I can remember it," she continued, "I can tell you the name of the solicitor whom he employed."
The young man dashed his fist upon the table. He was pale almost to the lips.
"By God! you must remember it," he cried. "Don't say you've forgotten. It's most important. Two thousand a year!—pounds! Think!"