“I never accused you of disloyalty,” said Sypher.  “You had your wife and children.  You did the only thing possible.”

“You take a load off my mind,” said Shuttleworth.

He drew a long breath, as though relieved from an intolerable burden.

“What is your proposal?” asked Sypher.

“I am authorized by the Jebusa Jones Company to approach you with regard to a most advantageous arrangement for both parties.  It’s your present intention to close down the factory and shut up this office as soon as things can be wound up.”

“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.

“That was a joke, Shuttleworth.  Haven’t you noticed that my jokes are always rather subtle?  No, of course you are to manage the Cure.”

“I know nothing about that, sir,” said Shuttleworth hastily.

Sypher rose and walked about the room, saying nothing, and his manager followed him anxiously with his eyes.  Presently he paused before the cartoon of the famous poster.

“This would be taken over with the rest?”

“I suppose so.  It’s valuable—­part of the good-will.”

“And the model of Edinburgh Castle—­and the autograph testimonials, and the ’Clem Sypher.  Friend of Humanity’?”

“The model isn’t much use.  Of course, you could keep that as a curiosity—­”

“In the middle of my drawing-room table,” said Sypher, ironically.

Shuttleworth smiled, guessing that the remark was humorous.

“Well,” he said, “that’s as you please.  But the name and title naturally are the essence of the matter.”