Stratton had always been greatly attached to him, he knew, but he did not always confide in him; he had a way of being extremely reticent, especially over money matters, and he recalled a little upset they had once had about a time when Stratton was hard pressed to get his rent ready and had raised the money in what he (Guest) had dubbed a disreputable way--that is to say, he had borrowed from "a relative" instead of from his friend. "The old lady's right," mused Guest, after a long period of thinking, during which his ideas seemed to ripen. "Mr Brettison must know, and depend upon it, he, being such a particular, high-souled man, was angry with Stratton, and would not come to the wedding. Of course; I remember now, Stratton did say that morning that Brettison was off, out collecting. Now, how to find out where he has gone." No idea came, for Brettison was one of the most erratic and enthusiastic of beings. Being very wealthy, and living in the simplest way, money was no object; and he would go off anywhere, and at any cost, to obtain a few simple and rare plants for his herbarium. As Guest mused over the matter, he recollected that Stratton said something about the south; but whether it was south of England, France, or Italy, he could not remember. "Might be the South Pole," he muttered pettishly. "Fancy that old chap having nothing better to do with his money than spend it over weeds!" "Now, if I had half," he said, after refilling his pipe, "I could go to the old admiral and say--Oh, what a fool I am!" But somehow that idea about Brettison and his money seemed to pervade his brain for the next few days, and to be mixed up with Stratton and his troubles. He recollected the money lying in crisp banknotes upon the table, and recalled that it was a heavy sum. That was an entirely fresh view to take; could Stratton have borrowed that money from Brettison? Likely enough, and that might have caused the estrangement. People did not like lending money. They would offer to do so, but when the demand was made they were a little bitter. "`Neither a borrower nor a lender be,'" muttered Guest, quoting from his favourite author, and then adding, "if you can help it." "Bah! That upsets the idea of the lady in the case," he muttered impatiently. "What a fool I am! As if it was likely that poor old Mal would try to make his quietus with a bare bodkin--modernised into a six-shooter--because old Brettison was huffed at his borrowing money. I must pump it out of the poor fellow somehow." That evening he went to Stratton's chambers, but could get no reply; and he waited about on the stairs till, growing uneasy and suspicious once more, he knocked again, and listened at the letter slit. Just then he heard steps, and the occupant of the upstairs chambers ascended to the landing. "How do?" he said. "Mr Stratton's out. I met him on the Embankment not half an hour ago."