A week later Roland sat in the office of 'Squibs,' reading a letter. It had been sent from No. 18-A Bream's Buildings, E.C., but, from Roland's point of view, it might have come direct from heaven; for its contents, signed by Harrison, Harrison, Harrison & Harrison, Solicitors, were to the effect that a client of theirs had instructed them to approach him with a view to purchasing the paper. He would not find their client disposed to haggle over terms, so, hoped Messrs. Harrison, Harrison, Harrison & Harrison, in the event of Roland being willing to sell, they could speedily bring matters to a satisfactory conclusion.
Any conclusion which had left him free of 'Squibs' without actual pecuniary loss would have been satisfactory to Roland. He had conceived a loathing for his property which not even its steadily increasing sales could mitigate. He was around at Messrs. Harrison's office as soon as a swift taxi could take him there. The lawyers were for spinning the thing out with guarded remarks and cautious preambles, but Roland's methods of doing business were always rapid.
“This chap,” he said, “this fellow who wants to buy 'Squibs,' what'll he give?”
“That,” began one of the Harrisons ponderously, “would, of course, largely depend——”
“I'll take five thousand. Lock, stock, and barrel, including the present staff, an even five thousand. How's that?”
“Five thousand is a large——”
“Take it or leave it.”
“My dear sir, you hold a pistol to our heads. However, I think that our client might consent to the sum you mention.”
“Good. Well, directly I get his check, the thing's his. By the way, who is your client?”