“My accountant’s working on them,” he prevaricated, “they’ll be ready tomorrow. But it’s no good showing them to you unless you’re prepared to deal.”
“Can’t you give me some idea? I’m only trying to find out if we can afford it.”
It was time to fire the last shot. “Maurice,” said Peter, “you know as well as I do that there’s no question of affording. All you’re asked to do—barring the payment for goodwill—-is to take over sound stock and good book-debts; realize on ’em; and pay the money over to me. If you don’t want to do it, say so; and I’ll either sell the show to Elkins or tell my accountants to liquidate.”
“You’re in such a hurry,” began Maurice. “Can’t you leave us till tomorrow?”
“No, I can’t.”
“But about this goodwill. How much do you want for it?”
“A year’s profits.”
The two brothers looked at each other; and Peter, watching, saw that he had the fish hooked. They didn’t want Elkins to have the business. They didn’t want it liquidated. They wanted it for themselves.
“Look here, Peter,” began Maurice ingratiatingly, “you and I are old pals. Of course, I quite see you must have this thing settled quickly. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to pay more than it’s worth for the business: any more than we should like to pay you less.”
“Of course not,” smiled Peter. He knew Maurice Beresford in his “between-you-and-me-and-the-gate-post-and-as-old-friends” mood.