The young man turned to Wrayson. His face was twitching with some emotion, probably anger.
"Did you ever hear such bally rot!" he exclaimed. "He knows all about these securities all right. They belong to me. He ought to be made to tell."
Wrayson shrugged his shoulders.
"It does seem rather a wild-goose chase, doesn't it?" he remarked. "Can't you tell him a little more, Mr. Bentham?"
Mr. Bentham sighed, as though his impotence were a matter of sincere regret to him.
"The only advice I can offer Mr. Barnes," he said, "is that he induce you to aid him in his search. Between you, I should never be surprised to hear of your success."
"And why," Wrayson asked, "should you consider me such a useful ally?"
Mr. Bentham looked at him steadily for a moment.
"You appear to me," he said, "to be a young man of intelligence—and you know how to keep your own counsel. I should consider Mr. Barnes very fortunate if you could make up your mind to aid him in his search."
"It is not my affair," Wrayson answered stiffly. "I could not possibly pledge myself to enter upon such a wild-goose chase."