Denny was admitted into the brothers’ debate, and had indeed puzzled himself a good deal over the matter already.  He had taken a lively interest in the strike, and the articles in the Clarion which led to its collapse had seemed to him both inexplicable and enraging.

After his talk with the Cravens, he went away, determined to dine at home on the earliest possible opportunity.  He announced himself accordingly in Hertford Street, was received with open arms, and then deliberately set himself, at dinner and afterwards, to bait his father on social and political questions, which, as a rule, were avoided between them.

Old Denny fell into the trap, lost his temper and self-control completely, and at a mention of Harry Wharton—­skilfully introduced at the precisely right moment—­as an authority on some matter connected with the current Labour programme, he threw himself back in his chair with an angry laugh.

“Wharton? Wharton?  You quote that fellow to me?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” said the son, quietly.

“Because, my good sir,—­he’s a rogue,—­that’s all!—­a common rogue, from my point of view even—­still more from yours.”

“I know that any vile tale you can believe about a Labour leader you do, father,” said George Denny, with dignity.

Whereupon the older man thrust his hand into his coat-pocket, and drawing out a small leather case, in which he was apt to carry important papers about with him, extracted from it a list containing names and figures, and held it with a somewhat tremulous hand under his son’s eyes.

“Read it, sir! and hold your tongue!  Last week my friends and I bought that man—­and his precious paper—­for a trifle of 20,000 l. or thereabouts.  It paid us to do it, and we did it.  I dare say you will think the preceding questionable.  In my eyes it was perfectly legitimate, a piece of bonne guerre.  The man was ruining a whole industry.  Some of us had taken his measure, had found out too—­by good luck!—­that he was in sore straits for money—­mortgages on the paper, gambling debts, and a host of other things—­discovered a shrewd man to play him, and made our bid!  He rose to it like a gudgeon—­gave us no trouble whatever.  I need not say, of course”—­he added, looking up at his son—­“that I have shown you that paper in the very strictest confidence.  But it seemed to me it was my duty as a father to warn you of the nature of some of your associates!”

“I understand,” said George Denny, as, after a careful study of the paper—­which contained, for the help of the writer’s memory, a list of the sums paid and founders’ shares allotted to the various “promoters” of the new Syndicate—­he restored it to its owner.  “Well, I, father, have this to say in return.  I came here to-night in the hope of getting from you this very information, and in the public interest I hold myself not only free but bound to make public use of it, at the earliest possible opportunity!”