“It’s a bona fide offer—there’s no trouble on that score.”
“Then, what is the trouble?”
“This,” said Croyden: “I’m broke—finally. The Parmenter treasure is moonshine, so far as I’m concerned. I’m down on my uppers, so to speak—my only assets are some worthless bonds. Behold! along comes an offer for them at par—two hundred thousand dollars for nothing! I fancy, old man, there is a friend back of this offer—the only friend I have in the world—and I did not think that even he was kind and self-sacrificing enough to do it.—I’m grateful, Colin, grateful from the heart, believe me, but I can’t take your money.”
“My money!” exclaimed Macloud—“you do me too much credit, Croyden. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I never thought of the bonds, or of helping you out, in your trouble. It’s a way we have in 223 Northumberland. We may feel for misfortune, but it rarely gets as far as our pockets. Don’t imagine for a moment that I’m the purchaser. I’m not, though I wish, now, that I was.”
“Will you give me your word on that?” Croyden demanded.
“I most assuredly will,” Macloud answered.
Croyden nodded. He was satisfied.
“There is no one else!” he mused, “no one else!” He looked at the letter again.... “And, yet, it is very suspicious, very suspicious.... I wonder, could I ascertain the name of the purchaser of the stocks and bonds, from the Trust Company who held them as collateral?”
“They won’t know,” said Macloud. “Blaxham & Company bought them at the public sale.”
“I could try the transfer agent, or the registrar.”