The young man followed him heavily. He seemed a little dazed. In Wrayson's sitting-room, he stood looking about him as though appraising the value of the curios, pictures, and engravings with which the apartment was crowded. Wrayson, while waiting for his call, watched him curiously. In his present state his vulgarity was perhaps less glaringly apparent, but his lack of attractiveness was accentuated. His ears seemed to have grown larger, his pinched, Semitic features more repulsive, and his complexion sallower. He was pitchforked into a world of which he knew nothing, and he seemed stunned by his first contact with it. Only one thing remained--the greed in his eyes. They seemed to have grown narrower and brighter with desire. He did not speak until they were in the cab. Then he turned to Wrayson. "I say," he exclaimed, "what was her name?" Wrayson smiled. "The Baroness de Sturm," he answered. "Baroness! Real Baroness! All O.K., I suppose?" "Without a doubt," Wrayson answered. "And Morris knew her--she wrote letters to him," he continued, "a woman--like that." He was silent for several moments. It was obvious that his opinion of his brother was rising rapidly. His tone had become almost reverential. "I've got to find where that money is," he said abruptly. "If I go through fire and water to get it, I'll have it! I'll keep on Morris's flat. I'll go to his tailor! I'll--you're laughing at me. But I mean it! I've had enough of grubbing along on nothing a week, and living in the gutters. I want a bit of Morris's luck." Wrayson put his head out of the cab. The young man's face was not pleasant to look at. "We are there," he said. "Come along." CHAPTER XV THE LAWYER'S SUGGESTION