The Witchs Head | Page 4

how much expression a back is capable, if you make such things your
study; yours, for instance, looks very uncomfortable to-day: nothing
gone wrong, I hope?"
"No, Cardus, no," answered Mr. de Talor, dropping the subject of backs,
which was, he felt, beyond him; "that is, nothing much, merely a
question of business, on which I have come to ask your advice as a
shrewd man."
"My best advice is at your service, Mr. de Talor: what is it?"

"Well, Cardus, it's this." And Mr. de Talor seated his portly frame in an
easy-chair, and turned his broad, vulgar face towards the lawyer. "It's
about the railway-grease business----"
"Which you own up in Manchester?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Well, then, it ought to be a satisfactory subject to talk of. It pays hand
over fist, does it not?"
"No, Cardus, that is just the point: it did pay, it don't now."
"How's that?"
"Well, you see, when my father took out the patent, and started the
business, his 'ouse was the only 'ouse on the market, and he made a pot,
and I don't mind telling you, I've made a pot too; but now, what do you
think?--there's a beggarly firm called Rastrick & Codley that took out a
new patent last year, and is underselling us with a better stuff at a
cheaper price than we can turn ours out."
"Well!"
"Well, we've lowered our price to theirs, but we are doing business at a
loss. We hoped to burst them, but they don't burst: there's somebody
backing them, confound them, for Rastrick & Codley ain't worth a
sixpence. Who it is the Lord only knows. I don't believe they know
themselves."
"That is unfortunate, but what about it?"
"Just this, Cardus. I want to ask your advice about selling out. Our
credit is good, and we could sell up for a large pile--not so large as we
could have done, but still large--and I don't know whether to sell or
hold."
Mr. Cardus looked thoughtful. "It is a difficult point, Mr. de Talor, but
for myself I am always against caving in. The other firm may smash

after all, and then you would be sorry. If you were to sell now you
would probably make their fortunes, which I suppose you don't want to
do."
"No, indeed."
"Then you are a very wealthy man; you are not dependent on this
grease business. Even if things were to go wrong, you have all your
landed property here at Ceswick's Ness to fall back on. I should hold, if
I were you, even if it was at a loss for a time, and trust to the fortune of
war."
Mr. de Talor gave a sigh of relief. "That's my view, too, Cardus. You
are a shrewd man, and I am glad you jump with me. Damn Rastrick &
Codley, say I!"
"O yes, damn them by all means," answered the lawyer, with a smile,
as he rose to show his client to the door.
On the farther side of the passage was another door, with a glass top to
it, which gave on to a room furnished after the ordinary fashion of a
clerk's office. Opposite this door Mr. de Talor stopped to look at a man
who was within, sitting at a table writing. The man was old, of large
size, very powerfully built, and dressed with extreme neatness in
hunting costume--boots, breeches, spurs and all. Over his large head
grew tufts of coarse grey hair, which hung down in dishevelled locks
about his face, giving him a wild appearance, that was added to by a
curious distortion of the mouth. His left arm, too, hung almost helpless
by his side.
Mr. Cardus laughed as he followed his visitor's gaze. "A curious sort of
clerk, eh?" he said. "Mad, dumb, and half-paralysed--not many lawyers
could show such another."
Mr. de Talor glanced at the object of their observation uneasily.
"If he's so mad, how can he do clerk's work?" he asked.

"O, he's only mad in a way; he copies beautifully."
"He has quite lost his memory, I suppose?" said de Talor, with another
uneasy glance.
"Yes," answered Mr. Cardus, with a smile, "he has. Perhaps it is as well.
He remembers nothing now but his delusions."
Mr. de Talor looked relieved. "He has been with you many years now,
hasn't he, Cardus?"
"Yes, a great many."
"Why did you bring him 'ere at all?"
"Did I never tell you the story? Then if you care to step back into my
office I will. It is not a long one. You remember when our friend"--he
nodded towards the office--"kept the hounds, and they used to call him
'Hard-riding Atterleigh'?"
"Yes, I remember, and ruined himself over them, like a fool."
"And of course