Let me go and see him for myself."

Mr. Bentham rose to his feet, and began slowly to draw on his gloves.

"Mr. Wrayson," he said quietly, "I am disappointed with the result of my
visit to you. I admit it frankly. You are either an extremely ingenuous
person, or a good deal too clever for me. In either case, if you will not
treat with me, I need not waste your time."

Wrayson moved to the door and stood with his back to it.

"I am not at all sure," he said, "that I am justified in letting you go
like this. You are in possession of information which would be invaluable
to the police in their search for the murderer of Morris Barnes."

Mr. Bentham smiled coldly.

"And are not you," he remarked, "in the same fortunate position--with the
unfortunate exception, perhaps, of having already given your testimony?
Of the two, if disclosures had to be made, I think that I should prefer
my own position."

Wrayson remained where he was.

"I am inclined," he said, "to risk it. At least you would be compelled to
disclose your client's name."

Mr. Bentham visibly flinched. He recovered himself almost immediately,
but the shadow of fear had rested for a moment, at any rate, upon his
impassive features.