‘Just tell me something about this,’ said Scawthorne peremptorily. Joseph complied, and ended his story with a few more hints. ‘I never saw her myself—at least I can’t be sure that I did. There was somebody of the same name—Clara—a friend of Polkenhorne’s wife.’ Scawthorne appeared to pay no attention; he mused with a wrinkled brow. ‘If only I could put something between Kirkwood and the girl,’ remarked Joseph, as if absently. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if it could be made worth some one’s while to give a bit of help that way. Don’t you think so?’ In the tone of one turning to a different subject, Scawthorne asked suddenly: ‘What use are you going to make of your father’s offer?’ ‘Well, I’m not quite sure. Shouldn’t wonder if I go in for filters.’ ‘Filters?’ Joseph explained. In the capacity of ‘commission agent’—denomination which includes and apologises for such a vast variety of casual pursuits—he had of late been helping to make known to the public a new filter, which promised to be a commercial success. The owner of the patent lacked capital, and a judicious investment might secure a share in the business; Joseph thought of broaching the subject with him next day. ‘You won’t make a fool of yourself?’ remarked Scawthorne. ‘Trust me; I think I know my way about.’ For the present these gentlemen had nothing more to say to each other; they emptied their glasses with deliberation, exchanged a look which might mean either much or nothing, and so went their several ways. The filter project was put into execution. When Joseph had communicated it in detail to his father, the latter took the professional advice of his friend Mr. Percival, and in the course of a few weeks Joseph found himself regularly established in a business which had the—for him—novel characteristic of serving the purposes of purity. The manufactory was situated in a by-street on the north of Euston Road: a small concern, but at all events a genuine one. On the window of the office you read, ‘Lake, Snowdon, & Co.’ As it was necessary to account for this achievement to Clem and Mrs. Peckover, Joseph made known to them a part of the truth; of the will he said nothing, and, for reasons of his own, he allowed these tender relatives to believe that he was in a fair way to inherit the greater part of Michael’s possessions. There was jubilation in Clerkenwell Close, but mother and daughter kept stern watch upon Joseph’s proceedings.