Mr. Cardus smiled.
“By all means, curse them. But what did this enterprising firm do, Mr. de Talor? They set to work, and sold a grease superior to the article manufactured by your house, at about eighteen per cent. cheaper. But the De Talor house had the ear of the markets, and the contracts with all the leading lines and Continental firms, and for awhile it seemed as though the new house must go to the wall; and if they had not had considerable capital at command, they must have gone to the wall.”
“Ah, and where did they get it from? That’s the mystery,” said De Talor.
“Precisely; that was the mystery. I shall clear it up a little presently. To return. After awhile the buyers began to find that Rastrick and Codley’s grease was a better grease and a cheaper grease, and as the contracts lapsed, the companies renewed them, not with the De Talor house, but with the house of Rastrick and Codley. Doubtless you remember.”
Mr. de Talor groaned in acquiescence, and the lawyer continued: “In time this state of affairs produced its natural results—De Talor’s house was ruined, and the bulk of the trade fell into the hands of the new firm.”
“Ah, I should just like to know who they really were—the low sneaks!”
“Would you? I will tell you. The firm of Rastrick and Codley were—Reginald Cardus, solicitor, of Dum’s Ness.”
Mr. de Talor struggled out of his chair, looked wildly at the lawyer, and sank down again.
“You look ill; may I offer you a glass of wine?”
The wretched man shook his head.