"Mine will have to."
"Will they? I thought that was just what they wouldn't do."
"Who's been telling you tales about me?"
"A little bird. So you see, Gregory, I'm more in want of a thousand pounds, because you can't carry on a house like this for long on fifty pounds, even if I have so much at the bank, which, as I say, I doubt."
"Fifty pounds! You're playing the fool with me--it's a favourite game of yours. What's become of the quarter of a million you told me that man Grahame had left you?"
"That's what I should like to know."
"You don't mean you've spent it? You can't have done--not in the time."
"I've never had it to spend."
"What rot are you talking? What game are you playing? Have you all along been telling me nothing but lies?"
"Cuthbert Grahame told me himself that he was worth more than a quarter of a million; soon after he died I told you that only a small portion of the money could be found."