“Then there is a Mr. John Paley?” demanded Mr. Lindsey, who was obviously surprised.

The manager, evidently, was also surprised—­by the signs of Mr. Lindsey’s surprise.

“Mr. John Paley is a stockbroker in this city,” he replied.  “Quite well known!  The fact is, we—­that is, I—­introduced Sir Gilbert Carstairs to him.  Perhaps,” he continued, glancing from one gentleman to the other, “I had better tell you all the facts.  They’re very simple, and quite of an ordinary nature.  Sir Gilbert Carstairs came in here, introducing himself, some months ago.  He told me that he was intending to sell off a good deal of the Carstairs property, and that he wanted to reinvest his proceeds in the very best American securities.  I gathered that he had spent a lot of time in America, that he preferred America to England, and, in short, that he had a decided intention of going back to the States, keeping Hathercleugh as a place to come to occasionally.  He asked me if I could recommend him a broker here in Edinburgh who was thoroughly well acquainted with the very best class of American investments, and I at once recommended Mr. John Paley.  And—­that’s all I know, gentlemen.”

“Except,” remarked Mr. Lindsey, “that you know that considerable transactions have taken place between Mr. Paley and Sir Gilbert Carstairs.  We know that, from what we heard last night in Newcastle.”

“Precisely!—­then you know as much as I can tell you,” replied the manager.  “But I have no objection to saying that large sums of money, coming from Sir Gilbert Carstairs, have certainly been passed through Mr. Paley’s banking account here, and I suppose Mr. Paley has made the investments which Sir Gilbert desired—­in fact, I know he has.  And—­I should suggest you call on Mr. Paley himself.”

We went away upon that, and it seemed to me that Mr. Lindsey was somewhat taken aback.  And we were no sooner clear of the bank than Mr. Portlethorpe, a little triumphantly, a little maliciously, turned on him.

“There! what did I say?” he exclaimed.  “Everything is in order, you see, Lindsey!  I confess I’m surprised to hear about those American investments; but, after all, Sir Gilbert has a right to do what he likes with his own.  I told you we were running our heads against the wall—­personally, I don’t see what use there is in seeing this Mr. Paley.  We’re only interfering with other people’s business.  As I say, Sir Gilbert can make what disposal he pleases of his own property.”

“And what I say, Portlethorpe,” retorted Mr. Lindsey, “is that I’m going to be convinced that it is his own property!  I’m going to see Paley whether you do or not—­and you’ll be a fool if you don’t come.”

Mr. Portlethorpe protested—­but he accompanied us.  And we were very soon in Mr. John Paley’s office—­a quiet, self-possessed sort of man who showed no surprise at our appearance; indeed, he at once remarked that the bank manager had just telephoned that we were on the way, and why.