"More brandy," he ordered briefly. "Look here, Mr. Wrayson," he added, adopting once more his mysterious manner, "those love-letters don't go! What did the Baroness want in my brother's flat? She struck me dumb when I first saw her. I admit it. I'd have swallowed anything. More fool me! I tell you, though, I'm not having any more. Will you come along with me to her house now, and see if we can't make her tell us the truth?" Wrayson shook his head deliberately. "Mr. Barnes," he said, "I am sorry to disappoint you, and I sympathize very much with your position, but you mustn't take it for granted that I am, shall we say, your ally in this matter. I haven't either the time or the patience to give to investigations of this sort. I have done what I could for you, and I will give you what advice I can, or help you in any way, if you care to come and see me. But you mustn't count on anything else." Barnes' face dropped. He was obviously disappointed. "You won't come and see the Baroness with me even?" he asked. "I think not," Wrayson answered. "To tell you the truth, I don't think that it would be of any use. Even if your suspicions are correct--and you scarcely know what you suspect, do you?--the Baroness is much too clever a woman to allow herself to be pumped by either you or me." Wrayson felt himself subjected for several moments to the scrutinizing stare of those blinking, unpleasant eyes. "You're not taking her side against me, are you?" Barnes asked distrustfully. "Certainly not," Wrayson answered impatiently. "You must be reasonable, my young friend. I have done what I can to put you in the way of helping yourself, but I am a busy man. I have my own affairs to look after, and I can't afford to play the part of a twentieth-century Don Quixote." "I understand," the young man said slowly. "You are going to turn me up." "You are putting a very foolish construction upon what I have said," Wrayson answered irritably. "I have gone out of my way to help you, but, frankly, I think that yours is a wild-goose chase." Barnes rose to his feet and finished his brandy. "I don't believe it," he declared. "I'm going to have that two thousand a year, if I have to take that man Bentham by the throat and strangle the truth out of him. If I can't find out without, I'll make him tell me the truth if I swing for it. By God, I will!" They left the place together and walked towards the corner of the street. "I shouldn't do anything rash, if I were you," Wrayson said. "I fancy you'd find Bentham a pretty tough sort to tackle. You must excuse me now. I am going into the club for a few minutes." "How are you, Wrayson?" a quiet voice asked behind. Wrayson turned round abruptly. It was Stephen Heneage who had greeted him--the one man whom, at that moment, he was least anxious to meet of any person in the world. Already he could see that Heneage was taking quiet but earnest note of his companion.