“I am not aware of Captain Bradshaw’s intention with regard to the disposal of his property,” Fred Bingham said stiffly.
“No!” Mr. Barton said as if surprised. “I imagined that you were, at least it is whispered—these things get whispered, you know—that you applied to a party in the city, who shall be nameless, and obtained a heavyish loan on the strength of your expectation in that quarter.”
Fred Bingham coloured scarlet, and was about to speak, when Mr. Barton stopped him.
“Pooh, pooh, my dear sir, don’t be angry. As men of the world we understand these matters, and the little affair in question is not known beyond a very small circle of safe men. If men did not mention the matter to their particular friends, you know, accidents might happen; a gentleman might borrow twice, for instance, from different parties upon the strength of his expectations.”
Fred Bingham bit his lip, for he had only the night before been meditating on the possibility of some such step as that suggested. He did not speak, and Mr. Barton went on—
“I think, then, that it will assist us to a better understanding of the position, if we assume—just assume, you know—that you are the probable heir to Captain Bradshaw’s very large property, now that Captain Bradshaw has had this unfortunate quarrel with your cousin.”
Mr. Barton laid a meaning stress upon the word unfortunate, and Fred Bingham said hastily—
“I had nothing to do with the quarrel.”
“Of course not, of course not,” Mr. Barton said, having not the least doubt but that he had, a doubt of which he made a mental note for future use. Fred Bingham felt that thus far he had had much the worst of the struggle, and he said,—
“I really do not see, Mr. Barton, where the conversation about family matters is leading us to.”