But not the less he was uneasy. There was something in the man that was sinister, supple, diabolically adroit, and he felt instinctively that his presence in his father's room boded no good for any one. Suddenly there recurred to his memory his father's statement that there were persons in Brighton he wanted him to meet, and he felt sure that it was to Scales he referred. Yes, it must be so, because no one else who could claim his father's acquaintance had appeared in Brighton; and, if it were so, it argued some kind of compact or pre-arrangement with Scales.
That night, however, nothing was said that could illumine the situation. Scales spent the night in the hotel, was closeted late with his father, and accompanied him to London on the following day.
Another day passed, and then his father sent for him.
"Arthur," he began, "I'm not going to interfere with our compact. I gave you till the end of September to make your mind up about the business, and I don't want you to speak a word until then. But there's a matter of business on which I want your help now."
"I'm not much good at business, father. I don't think I ever shall be."
Masterman ignored the confession.
"You don't know that until you try."
"Of course, if there's anything in which I can help you, father, I'll do my best."
"Well, you're old enough to use your eyes, and that's all I want of you. Sit down, and let me explain."
Thereupon he explained. It seemed that Scales had got wind in the broker's office where he was managing clerk of a certain amalgamation of several brick companies which was likely to come off before long. One of these companies was in Sussex, not far from Brighton. It was in difficulties, had been a long time, and might be bought cheap. Masterman proposed to buy it, and then resell to the trust when it should be formed. Properly handled, there might be a fortune in the transaction.