“Very likely. There are more poor men in the world than rich ones. Not that I am rich,” he added quickly, with habitual caution.
“Is your friend rich?” queried Jake. “The sick man, I mean.”
An idea came to Wentworth.
“I don’t think he has much money,” he answered slowly, “but he has some papers that are valuable.”
“Some papers?” repeated Jake vacantly. “What sort of papers be they?”
“Some papers that belong to me; my name is signed to them.”
“How’d he get ’em, then?”
“I don’t like to say, but they ought to be in my possession.”
“Then why don’t you ask for them?”