'And what,' asked Hugo, smiling faintly at Mr. Senior Polycarp—'what is your client's idea of price?'
For half an hour they had been talking in the luxurious calm of Hugo's central office, which was like an island refuge in the middle of that tossing ocean of business. It overlooked the court of fountains from the second story, and the highest jet of water threw a few jewelled drops to the level of its windows.
Mr. Polycarp stroked his beautiful white moustache.
'We would give,' he said in his mincing, passionless voice, 'the cost price of premises, stock, and fixtures, and for goodwill seven times your net annual profits. In addition, we should be anxious to secure your services as managing director for ten years at five thousand a year, plus a percentage of profits.'
'Hum!'
'And, of course, if you wished part of the purchase-money in shares—'
'Have you formed any sort of estimate of my annual profits?' Hugo demanded.
'Yes—a sort of estimate.'
'You have looked carefully round, eh?'
'My clients have. I myself, too, a little. This morning, for example. Very healthy, Mr. Hugo.'