"You are quite right. To look around his office, Mr. Kleinwort ought never to have had a transaction with the General Chemical Company, and if I had any young client in whom I was interested, I should advise him never to have a transaction with Mr. Kleinwort."

"Indeed, you are mistaken," remarked Mr. Werner eagerly. "I never meant to imply anything of the kind."

"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."

"Oh!" said Mr. Benning. He was beginning to recollect something about Fleck, Handley and Co., and their London representative also.

"A large firm in a large way," continued Mr. Forde. "They have extensive transactions with the G. C. C. Limited."

"Which fact in itself is a proof of respectability and solvency," added Werner with his bitter tongue.

"Ah! but they are not accountants," commented Mr. Benning, affecting unconsciousness of the sneer. "And we must have an accountant, or we shall meet with no end of difficulty. The position of affairs, as I understand it, is this: Mr. Mortomley is either unable to go on or else wishes to stop. The result is the same, let the cause be which it may.

He wishes the affair kept quiet or some of his creditors do. To effect this object he wishes me to act for him in the matter. Now, if I am to do so effectually, it is needful for us to have a trustee about whose _bona fides_ there can be no question. It is not enough for us that a man is a very honest fellow or useful or expedient. We must have some one with a known name accustomed to this sort of work. It is perfect waste of time racking our brains to think which Dick or Tom or Harry will answer our purpose best. We can have no Dick or Tom or Harry. This is not a small affair, and the Court will require some responsible man to take the management of such an estate."

"There is no estate to manage," interposed Mr. Forde. "The whole thing has been muddled away, or made away with."

"If that be your real opinion, the whole thing had better go into bankruptcy at once," said Mr. Benning.

"No--no--no--no, not at all; by no means, no," exclaimed Mr. Kleinwort as the lawyer rose as if intending to depart. "That must not be. I, Kleinwort, say no. Forde is rash--rash. He knows not what is good or best. He talks beyond the mark."

"Come, Forde, reckon up your respectable acquaintances, and tell us the name of the blackest sheep you know amongst the accountant tribe,"

suggested Mr. Werner. "Your experience has been large enough, Heaven knows."

"Will you stop jeering or not?" asked Mr. Forde. "Considering Mr.

Mortomley is your bosom friend, I think the way you talk of this matter scarcely decent."

"Nay," answered Mr. Werner. "Mortomley has been your bosom friend it seems to me. Certainly, had he asked my advice a few years ago, we four would not have had the arrangement of his destiny to-day. And as for bosom friends," he added in a lower tone, "a businessman has none, and no friends either for that matter. Such luxuries are not for us."

"Do, for heaven's sake, let us keep to the matter in hand," exclaimed Mr. Benning. "Will you name an accountant or shall I?"

The manager looked at Mr. Kleinwort, and then once again the German led his, so good friend, out of the room.

Mr. Benning watched the pair till the door closed behind them, and then turning to Mr. Werner, said,

"Will you allow me to ask you one question? How does it happen so astute a man as you has anything to do with St. Vedast Wharf?"

"Trade, like poverty, makes one acquainted with strange bedfellows," was the reply.

"That is very true; but why are you mixing yourself up with this man Mortomley?"

Mr. Werner paused a moment before he answered, and a dull red streak appeared on each side his face, while he hesitated about his answer.

Then he looked his interlocutor straight in the eyes and said,

"Because I want to keep Forde at St. Vedast Wharf for another twelvemonth."

Mr. Benning, between his teeth, gave vent to a low but most unlawyer-like whistle.

"That's it, is it," he commented.

"That is it," agreed Mr. Werner.

"And Kleinwort ditto?" said the lawyer, inquiringly.

"So far as I know," was the reply.

Then observed Mr. Benning,

"I am infinitely obliged by your frankness. I could not see my way before, but I think I can discern daylight now."

"It must be through a very dark tunnel then," remarked Mr. Werner bitterly.

"We must keep Mortomley's business moving."

"That is what Kleinwort says, but I confess I do not see how it is to be done."

"Where there is a will there is always a way," was the calm rejoinder.

"Well, gentlemen," he added, as Mr. Kleinwort returned leading his friend with him. "Have you found a suitable man; because if not, I must."

"Yes, yes," answered Kleinwort irritably, for he and Mr. Forde had been arguing a little hotly over the trustee question. "Do you happen to know one very good man, one true dear Christian who makes long prayers, and has snow hair hanging loose, and wears a white neckhandkerchief so pure and faultless--"

"What is his name?" interrupted Mr. Benning.

"Asherill," answered Mr. Forde.

"You mean the old humbug in Salisbury House I suppose," commented Mr.

Benning, after a moment's pause. "Well, I don't know but that he might serve our purpose as well as any one if he will undertake the business.

But you know, in spite of its sheep's clothing, what a cunning old wolf it is. He understands it behoves him to be careful, and he is. Give him a straightforward case, however small, and he is satisfied.

"He will strip the debtor clean as a whistle, and then sympathize with the creditors over the depravity of debtors in general, and that especial sinner of a debtor in particular. But take any estate to him, no matter how large the liquidation of which _may_ subsequently be called in question, and he says, even while his mouth is watering for the _bonne bouche_,