"That's my intention," said Sypher.
"You'll come out of it solvent, with just a thousand pounds or so in your pocket. The Cure will disappear from the face of the earth."
"Quite so," said Sypher. He leaned back in his chair, and held an ivory paper-knife in both hands.
"But wouldn't that be an enormous pity?" said Shuttleworth. "The Cure is known far and wide. Economically financed, and put, more or less, out of reach of competition it can still be a most valuable property. Now, it occurred to me that there was no reason why the Jebusa Jones Company could not run Sypher's Cure side by side with the Cuticle Remedy. They agree with me. They are willing to come to terms, whereby they will take over the whole concern as it stands, with your name, of course, and advertisements and trade-marks, and pay you a percentage of the profits."
Sypher made no reply. The ivory paper-knife snapped, and he laid the pieces absently on his desk.
"The advantage to you is obvious," remarked Shuttleworth, who was beginning to grow uneasy before the sphinx-like attitude of his chief.
"Quite obvious," said Sypher. Then, after a pause: "Do they propose to ask me to manage the Sypher Cure branch?"
The irony was lost on Shuttleworth.
"No—well—not exactly—" he stammered.
Sypher laughed grimly, and checked further explanations.