"That's your idea of humour, no doubt, Major. But I'm dead serious. I know what you've done. You've set these people against me. You've used your influence to prevent my doing business with them. I've no doubt you used your power to terrify them."
Tristram laughed gaily.
"I did that," he admitted. "I believe they think you're the devil himself."
"And you think that's fair? What right had you——?"
"I don't care to see people paying fifty per cent. interest."
"Very well. But what's going to happen? You're so damned thoughtful for your friends—perhaps you'll tell me what's going to happen to them. Those weavers—at Heerut and Bjura and all round—they're smashed. No one will touch their stuff for a year at least. Are they going to starve—or are you going to advance them money out of your screw?"
Tristram looked up, his blue eyes resting calmly and even with a certain amusement on the other's dark and bitter face.
"In a sort of way—at least I'm getting the Government to take a hand."
"You—you did that?"
"I'm trying to. You're quite right. I've done all I can to keep you and your agents out. I'm a doctor, and the material conditions of my people concern me. I've seen some of your business methods, and I think you're unhealthy, Mr. Barclay."