“Because I happen to be in the Army.”
“Some one could run it while you’re away.”
“It isn’t that”—Peter spoke coldly, impersonally—“but if anything happened to me there’d be the whole tangle over again. Whereas, if I can get my fourteen thousand out, that and the insurance money, at five per cent. . . .”
“Very well,” interrupted Reid. “I follow you. Point two: Who’s your buyer?”
“A firm called Beresford and Beresford. You’ll find them pretty tough nuts to negotiate with.”
“Jews?” asked Reid, who had a slight acquaintance with the cigar-trade.
“Yes.”
“Well that’s one comfort. They won’t mess about. If they want the thing, and the price suits them, they’ll have it. . . .”
§ 2
Peter had spoken with great certainty about Beresfords; but as he climbed down the prison-like stone staircase of Great Winchester House he began to wonder whether he might not have misjudged the situation. Two and a half years ago, Maurice would have jumped at the opportunity of acquiring Jamesons on the terms Peter now proposed to accept. But things had altered in the cigar-trade; perhaps the arguments he intended using would not be effective.