“What’s Batley’s profession?”
“I suspect he’s something in the smart money-lending line; one of the fellows who deal with minors and others on post-obits.”
“Post-obits?”
“Promises to pay after somebody’s dead. Suppose there should be only an invalid or an old man between you and a valuable property; you could borrow on the strength of your expectations. Now, what Crestwick told you shows that the person who left him his money very wisely handed it to trustees, with instructions to pay him only an allowance until he’s twenty-four. It’s a somewhat similar case to the one I’ve instanced—he’s drawing on a capital he can’t get possession of for two or three years, and no doubt paying an extortionate interest. So far as I know, no respectable bank or finance broker would handle that kind of business.”
“But if the boy died before he succeeded to the property?”
“Batley could cover the risk by making Crestwick take out an insurance policy in his favor.”
Lisle’s face grew stern, and Nasmyth lay smoking in silence for a while. Then he broke out again:
“It’s intolerable! George Gladwyne’s successor abetting that fellow in robbing the lad, luring him into wagers and reckless play with the result that most of the borrowed money goes straight back into the hands of the man who lent it!”
“Have you any suspicion that Gladwyne gets a share?”
“No,” replied Nasmyth, with signs of strong uneasiness; “I can’t believe he benefits in that manner—if he did, I’d feel it my duty to denounce him. Still, I expect he wins a little now and then, incidentally.”