Here Mr. Quest, who had enjoyed about enough of this kind of thing, changed the conversation by beginning to comment on various business transactions which he had been conducting on behalf of the house. The old man listened with the greatest interest, his keen black eyes attentively fixed upon the speaker’s face, till at last Mr. Quest happened to mention that amongst others a certain Colonel Quaritch had opened an account with their branch of the bank. “Quaritch?” said the old man eagerly, “I know that name. Was he ever in the 105th Foot?” “Yes,” said Mr. Quest, who knew everything about everybody, “he was an ensign in that regiment during the Indian Mutiny, where he was badly wounded when still quite young, and got the Victoria Cross. I found it all out the other day.” “That’s the man; that’s the man,” said old Mr. Cossey, jerking his head in an excited manner. “He’s a blackguard; I tell you he’s a blackguard; he jilted my wife’s sister. She was twenty years younger than my wife—jilted her a week before her marriage, and would never give a reason, and she went mad and is in a madhouse how. I should like to have the ruining of him for it. I should like to drive him into the poor-house.” Mr. Quest and Edward looked at each other, and the old man let his head fall back exhausted. “Now good-bye, Mr. Quest, they’ll give you a bit of dinner downstairs,” he said at length. “I’m getting tired, and I want to hear the rest of that money article. You’ve done very well for Cossey’s and Cossey’s will do well for you, for we always pay by results; that’s the way to get good work and make a lot of money. Mind, Edward, if ever you get a chance don’t forget to pay that blackguard Quaritch out pound for pound, and twice as much again for compound interest—hee! hee! hee!” “The old gentleman keeps his head for business pretty well,” said Mr. Quest to Edward Cossey as soon as they were well outside the door. “Keeps his head?” answered Edward, “I should just think he did. He’s a regular shark now, that’s what he is. I really believe that if he knew I had found thirty thousand for old de la Molle he would cut me off with a shilling.” Here Mr. Quest pricked up his ears. “And he’s close, too,” he went on, “so close that it is almost impossible to get anything out of him. I am not particular, but upon my word I think that it is rather disgusting to see an old man with one foot in the grave hanging on to his moneybags as though he expected to float to heaven on them.” “Yes,” said Mr. Quest, “it is a curious thing to think of, but, you see, money _is_ his heaven.” “By the way,” said Edward, as they entered the study, “that’s queer about that fellow Quaritch, isn’t it? I never liked the look of him, with his pious air.”