This was followed by a silence. Mr. Randolph seemed much disturbed. Jamming his hands into his pockets he went and looked out of the window. Mr. Mitchel looked at him for some minutes with a smile of amusement hovering about his lips. Suddenly he said:
"Randolph, does your conscience trouble you?"
"Most decidedly!" answered his companion sharply, turning towards him.
"Why not go and unburden your soul to the police?"
"I think it is my duty to do so. But I feel like a coward at the idea. It seems like betraying a friend."
"Ah! You still count me your friend. Then, my dear friend, for I assure you I value your good will, I will show you how to act so as to satisfy your conscience, and yet not injure me."
"I wish to heaven you would."
"Nothing easier. Go to Mr. Barnes and make a clean breast of all that you know."
"But that is betraying you to the police."
"No; Mr. Barnes is not the police—he is only a private detective. If you remember, he is the very one about whom we were talking when the wager was made. You were boasting of his skill. It should satisfy you then to have him on my track, and it will satisfy me, if you agree to talk with no other. Is it a bargain?"