“But he ought to have had plenty,” rejoined Marrable, in the same sing-song voice. “Now, I’ll make a clean breast of it, John. Not that I wish to make myself unpleasant, as I said before, but when I was down here at Christmas I thought things looked fishy (I don’t want to be unkind, but they really did); so when I got back to town I got a friend to cable over to Melbourne for me, and find out the particulars of Gilbert Wryde’s will.” Then there was a pause. John Bradfield looked, not at his old chum, but out at the sea, which lay a bright blue grey in the sunshine. To think that he should have escaped detection all these years, to be brought to book at last by such a paltry creature--that was the thought that was surging in his mind as he stood digging his nails into his own flesh and not listening very eagerly for the next words, for he knew so well what they would be. “I only got the letter yesterday which gave me all particulars. I know that Gilbert Wryde left all his money to you in trust for his son. So,” pursued Alfred, slowly, and apparently without vindictiveness, “you never really made any money at all yourself, John, any more than I? But you’ve lived like a fighting-cock on Gilbert Wryde’s. That’s about the size of it, isn’t it, old chap?” Although he was trying to give a playful turn to his conversation, Marrable did not speak cheerfully. There was a long pause. John Bradfield, being hopelessly cornered, saw that there was nothing for it but to find out the lowest price at which Alfred would be bought. His methods were always blunt, so that Marrable was not surprised when his old chum simply planted himself on the carpet in front of him, jingling some money in his pockets, and asked briefly: “How much do you want?” Marrable, who never looked up at his friend if he could help it, bleated out, quite plaintively: “Well, John, for myself, I should be sorry to stoop so low as to take anything; but I should like to send home a ten-pound note, if you could spare it, and all I ask of you is to put me up here for a bit, and let me make myself at home as we used to do in the old days together.” John Bradfield was so much amazed at this request, that for a few moments he could give no answer whatever. The thought of having always in the house with him this flabby, weak-kneed creature, who was, nevertheless, his master, by virtue of his knowledge, was so galling, that he would rather have given up the half of his ill-gotten property than have supported the infliction. He laughed shortly, therefore, and said, in a jeering tone: “What, believing me to be capable of what you accuse me of, you are willing to trust yourself under the same roof with me? It wouldn’t be very hard to make _you_ pass for a lunatic with all the medical men in the county, you know!” But Marrable bore the jibe placidly.