“You know it’s been standing like that for more than twenty years?” Here, as in a special effort of heroic falsehood, Mr. Petre quite distinctly nodded, and Terrard was relieved.
“I’m glad you know that,” he said, “because it’s the very first thing to get hold of. Why a site like that should stand empty in the heart of London all the time it would take a very long time to explain to you. It began with a quarrel between the two estates, or rather between the Trustees of the Paddenham Estate and a claimant who had bought up an option on the addition; or rather, we won’t say a quarrel, but what each called obstinacy. And then there was the bankruptcy, you know: old Elmer’s bankruptcy—the Elmers are Paddenhams. A lot of small people were rather badly hit, because there was a syndicate.”
Mr. Petre was in up to his middle, and as the meaningless words flowed on he began to nod more vigorously than ever.
“Exactly,” he said. “Exactly. I quite understand.”
“Exactly. I quite understand.”
“Then, when the second syndicate took it over, they got the option of a price which seemed nothing at the time—but that was just before the London Traffic Bill. The fight over that held it up, of course, and then after the compromise....”
“Yes,” said Mr. Petre, “of course,” as though that explained it all. (What compromise? his dear heart asked of him—and an inward voice replied, “God knows!”)
“If the Government hadn’t been nibbling at it,” went on Mr. Terrard rapidly, “they wouldn’t have hung on, perhaps. But they did, and there was the second bankruptcy. Then Williams came in. You know what that means?”