“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.”

“What about Europe?”

“That is where the danger lies.  If he had clever confederates, a large part of the value of the bonds could be borrowed from a bank, or they might be sold to unsuspecting buyers on a French or German bourse.”

“But this would depend on the publicity you gave their theft.”

“Exactly,” Percival agreed with some dryness.  “I have been trying to make Mr. Hulton recognize it.”

Hulton’s tense look softened and he smiled.  “Percival seems to have forgotten that I am a business man.  At the inquiry I shirked my duty by keeping something back, and now he expects me to brand my son’s good name.  The money must go.  In a sense, it is a trifling loss.”

“At last, you put me wise,” said Percival.  “But to prove that Fred was innocent you must find the thief.”

“That’s so.  It must be done with skill and tact by the best New York private investigation man that I can hire.  The job’s too delicate for the regular police.”

Featherstone, who had been sitting thoughtfully silent, looked up.  “Perhaps it’s lucky the wage clerk went into the treasurer’s office after I left, though I spoke to the watchman, Jordan, as I went out.”

“No,” said Percival sharply.  “It wasn’t Jordan’s week on night-guard.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Hulton asked:  “Where did you meet the man you thought was Jordan?  Did he answer you?”

“He was going along the ground-floor passage in front of me, and the only light was in the pay-office at the end.  He stood in the doorway as I passed and I said, ‘It’s a cold night, Tom.’  I’d gone a few yards when he answered, ‘It will be colder soon.’”