"Oh! indeed," replied the lawyer. "Well, it does not signify, but I thought you did."
"I never do attempt conversation with any one of these fellows but I have reason to repent it," Mr. Werner observed thoughtfully to himself, and there was a considerable amount of truth in the remark. Conversation in the City, if a man have anything to conceal, is about as safe and pleasant an exercise as walking through a field set with spring guns.
Kleinwort's pour-parler kept him safe enough, skirting with pleasant phrases and apparently foolish devices round and about dangerous ground, but Werner did not chance to be quite so great a rogue as his friend, and he certainly regarded life and its successes much more seriously, though not more earnestly, than the man who was good enough to "make use of England."
Upon the whole Mr. Werner felt relieved that before Mr. Benning could take up his parable again the door opened, and Messrs. Forde and Kleinwort reappeared, the latter exclaiming,
"We have got him now; the right man for the right place; Duncombe, you know Duncombe."
"I cannot say that I do," answered Mr. Benning, while Henry Werner, with an impatient "Pshaw," turned on his heel, and walked to the window, against the panes of which a fine drizzling rain was beginning to beat.
"It seems to me, sir," began Mr. Forde irritably, "that as you are unwilling to make any suggestion yourself, you might find some better employment than objecting to the suggestions of others."
"That is enough," was the reply. "Manage the affair after your own lights, and see where they will ultimately land you."
"Who is Duncombe?" inquired Mr. Benning.
"A most respectable man; A1, sir," explained Mr. Forde. "The London representative of Fleck, Handley and Company, whose works are at Oldbury, Staffordshire."