For an instant Risk frowned, then he smiled pleasantly. “The daughter has never seen me, but she has no better friend for her father’s sake. Yet I must try to satisfy you that I am not interested in those 5,000 shares with an eye to personal profit.” He got up and, leaving Colin hot and uncomfortable, went to a safe built into the wall behind the panelling, a door in which stood open. He came back with a thin bundle of parchment-like papers which he put into the young man’s hand.
“Kindly look at these, Hayward, and tell me what they represent.”
Reluctantly but perforce Colin examined the documents and after a little while replied a trifle huskily—
“Eighty thousand shares in the Zenith Company—and you are the owner!”
“Well, does that satisfy you that I can afford to be honest? Please don’t think I was showing off!”
Colin hung his head as he handed back the certificates—and murmured an apology. He was not so much impressed by the man’s great wealth as by his cool, straightforward answer to suspicion.
“You are evidently Miss Carstairs’ good friend,” Risk said kindly, throwing the bundle on the table, “and so your doubts do you credit. You are aware that she is in London?”
Colin jumped. Well, she had not been long in making use of the hundred pounds! “I didn’t know,” he managed to say fairly steadily, and could have asked many questions.
“She is staying with my sister,” continued Risk. “My sister was here a few minutes ago. Sorry you did not meet. If you like, we shall call upon her after dinner. But now as to Symington, I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to make another night journey; only you need not start till 11.30, when you will find a sleeping berth on the train. Am I working you too hard?”
“Rather not!” cried Colin. “But, Mr. Risk, I must not delay another moment to show you this.” He produced the crumpled letter. “When you have read it, I will answer any questions I can.”