"You mean that I can sell him up?" said Martin Nelthorp bluntly.
"Lock, stock, and barrel!" replied Mr. Postlethwaite.
Martin Nelthorp rubbed his chin.
"It's no very nice thing to ruin a man—and his family with him," he remarked.
Mr. Postlethwaite again coughed. He took off his gold-rimmed glasses and affected to exercise great care in polishing them.
"Is there any particular reason why you should consider Sutton before considering yourself?" he said softly.
Martin Nelthorp's face darkened, and a hard, almost vindictive look came into his eyes. The hand which held his ash-plant stick tightened about it.
"No!" he said. "That there isn't! On the contrary——"
"Aye, just so, just so!" said the solicitor. "Of course, that's an old tale now, but old wounds will rankle, my dear sir, old wounds will rankle!"
Martin Nelthorp stared hard at Mr. Postlethwaite from beneath his bushy grey eyebrows. He got up slowly, and buttoned his great driving-coat and put on his broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, still staring at the man of law.