"No, sir," said Featherstone, with quiet earnestness. "I never thought
it, and it is impossible to believe it now."

"My partner's opinion's mine," Foster broke in. Hulton looked from one
to the other and a curious steely glitter came into his eyes. It
hinted at a pitiless, unchangeable purpose, and bracing himself with an
effort he clenched his fist.

"Nor do I believe it! If necessary, I'll let my business and factory
go and spend the last dollar I've got to find the man who killed my
boy."

Next moment he sank limply back in his chair, as if the strain and
vindictive emotion, reacting on his physical weakness, had overcome
him, and there was silence until he recovered. Foster felt it
something of a relief that the man's icy self-control had broken down.

"Very well," Hulton resumed in a shaky voice. "I brought you here
because you knew my son and I wanted your support. Then I meant to
convince Percival, whose help I may need to clear the boy's good name.
We'll let that go and try to be practical."

"Were the bonds negotiable?" Foster asked. "Could they be easily sold?"

Percival, who was about fifty years of age and had a reserved manner,
answered: "Some were bearer bonds, and, if the thief acted quickly,
would be as good as cash. Most, however, were registered stock, and it
is probable that he would be afraid to sell them in Canada or America.
The transfers would require to be forged."