"And why," Wrayson asked, "should you consider me such a useful ally?"
Mr. Bentham looked at him steadily for a moment.
"You appear to me," he said, "to be a young man of intelligence—and you know how to keep your own counsel. I should consider Mr. Barnes very fortunate if you could make up your mind to aid him in his search."
"It is not my affair," Wrayson answered stiffly. "I could not possibly pledge myself to enter upon such a wild-goose chase."
Mr. Bentham turned over some papers which lay upon the table before him. He had apparently had enough of the conversation.
"You must not call it exactly that, Mr. Wrayson," he said. "Mr. Barnes' success in his quest would probably result in an act of justice to society. To you personally, I should imagine it would be expressly interesting."
"What do you mean?" Wrayson asked, quickly.
The lawyer looked at him calmly.
"It should solve the mystery of Morris Barnes' murder!" he answered.
Wrayson touched his companion on the shoulder.
"I think that we might as well go," he said. "Mr. Bentham does not mean to tell us anything more."
Barnes moved slowly towards the door, but with reluctance manifested in his sullen face and manner.
"I don't know how I'm going to set about this job," he said, turning once more towards the lawyer. "I shall do what I can, but you haven't seen the last of me, yet, Mr. Bentham. If I fail, I shall come back to you."
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. He was already absorbed in other work.
