Part 46 (1/2)
”No--well--not exactly--” he stammered.
Sypher laughed grimly, and checked further explanations.
”That was a joke, Shuttleworth. Haven't you noticed that my jokes are always rather subtle? No, of course you are to manage the Cure.”
”I know nothing about that, sir,” said Shuttleworth hastily.
Sypher rose and walked about the room, saying nothing, and his manager followed him anxiously with his eyes. Presently he paused before the cartoon of the famous poster.
”This would be taken over with the rest?”
”I suppose so. It's valuable--part of the good-will.”
”And the model of Edinburgh Castle--and the autograph testimonials, and the 'Clem Sypher. Friend of Humanity'?”
”The model isn't much use. Of course, you could keep that as a curiosity--”
”In the middle of my drawing-room table,” said Sypher, ironically.
Shuttleworth smiled, guessing that the remark was humorous.
”Well,” he said, ”that's as you please. But the name and t.i.tle naturally are the essence of the matter.”
”I see,” said Sypher. ”'Clem Sypher, Friend of Humanity,' is the essence of the matter.”
”With the secret recipe, of course.”
”Of course,” said Sypher, absently. He paced the room once or twice, then halted in front of Shuttleworth, looked at him fixedly for a second or two out of his clear eyes and resumed his walk; which was disconcerting for Shuttleworth, who wiped his spectacles.
”Do you think we might now go into some details with regard to terms?”
”No,” said Sypher, stopping short of the fireplace, ”I don't. I've got to agree to the principle first.”
”But, surely, there's no difficulty about that!” cried Shuttleworth, rising in consternation. ”I can see no earthly reason--”
”I don't suppose you can,” said Sypher. ”When do you want an answer?”
”As soon as possible.”
”Come to me in an hour's time and I'll give it you.”
Shuttleworth retired. Sypher sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, and struggled with his soul, which, as all the world knows, is the most uncomfortable thing a man has to harbor in his bosom. After a few minutes he rang up a number on the telephone.
”Are you the Shaftesbury Club? Is Mr. Septimus Dix in?”
He knew that Septimus was staying at the club, as he had come to town to meet Emmy, who had arrived the evening before from Paris.
Mr. Dix was in. He was just finis.h.i.+ng breakfast, and would come to the telephone. Sypher waited, with his ear to the receiver.
”Is that you, Septimus? It's Clem Sypher speaking. I want you to come to Moorgate Street at once. It's a matter of immediate urgency. Get into a hansom and tell the man to drive like the devil. Thanks.”