"I see," said Sypher. "'Clem Sypher, Friend of Humanity,' is the essence of the matter."
"With the secret recipe, of course."
"Of course," said Sypher, absently. He paced the room once or twice, then halted in front of Shuttleworth, looked at him fixedly for a second or two out of his clear eyes and resumed his walk; which was disconcerting for Shuttleworth, who wiped his spectacles.
"Do you think we might now go into some details with regard to terms?"
"No," said Sypher, stopping short of the fireplace, "I don't. I've got to agree to the principle first."
"But, surely, there's no difficulty about that!" cried Shuttleworth, rising in consternation. "I can see no earthly reason—"
"I don't suppose you can," said Sypher. "When do you want an answer?"
"As soon as possible."
"Come to me in an hour's time and I'll give it you."
Shuttleworth retired. Sypher sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, and struggled with his soul, which, as all the world knows, is the most uncomfortable thing a man has to harbor in his bosom. After a few minutes he rang up a number on the telephone.