"It won't do, Wrayson," he said. "That young man possessed a cast of features which are positively unmistakable."
"What do you mean?" Wrayson demanded.
"I mean that he was a relation, and a near relation, too, I should imagine, of our deceased friend Morris Barnes," Heneage answered coolly. "I shall be obliged to make that young man's acquaintance."
"Damn you and your prying!" Wrayson exclaimed angrily. "I wish———"
He stopped abruptly. Heneage was already retracing his steps.
Wrayson, after a moment's indecision, went on to the club, and made his way at once to the billiard-room. The Colonel was sitting in his usual corner chair, watching a game of pool, beaming upon everybody with his fatherly smile, encouraging the man who met with ill luck, and applauding the successful shots. He was surrounded by his cronies, but he held out his hand to Wrayson, who leaned against the wall by his side and waited for his opportunity.
"Colonel," he said at last in his ear, taking advantage of the applause which followed a successful shot, "I want half an hour's talk with you, quite by ourselves. Can you slip away and come and dine with me somewhere?"
The Colonel looked dubious.
"I'm afraid they won't like it," he answered. "Freddy and George are here, and Tempest's coming in later."
"I can't help it," Wrayson answered. "You can guess what it's about. It's a serious matter."
The Colonel sighed.
"We might find an opportunity later on," he suggested.
