"Not in any practical way--not with money--certainly not. For the rest, if as a man of business I can be of any service----" "For the sake of the family." "The family is nothing to me--at least, the one hit hardest is nothing to me. He'll have to work for his living now. That's no hardship. It may be the best thing that's befallen him yet." "Very true, indeed. Well, let us leave the main question open. The case has no very unusual features. Occasionally the world trusts a man to his grave, and then finds out, too late, that it was mistaken. It is extraordinary what a lot of people will trust a good heart, Mr. Baskerville. Trust, like hope, springs eternal in the human breast." "Does it? I've never found much come my way. And I'm not strong in trust myself. I felt friendly to Nathan, because he was my own flesh and blood; but trust him--no." "He didn't confide in you?" "Never." Mr. Baskerville rose. "I shall see my relations no doubt pretty soon. I fancy they'll pay me some visits. Well, why not? I'm lonely, and rolling in money--so they think. And--there's a woman that I rather expect to call upon me. In fact, I've bidden her to do so. Perhaps, if she don't, I'll call on her. For the present we can leave it. If there's no money, nobody can hope to be paid. We'll talk more on that later. Who's got Cadworthy?" "Westcott of Cann Quarries. He lent the money on it." "What the devil does he want with it?" asked Mr. Baskerville. "That I can't tell you. Probably he doesn't want it. He's foreclosed, of course. It was only out of friendship and regard for Mr. Nathan that he lent so much money on the place. He tells me that your brother explained to him that it was for a year or so to help Ned; and out of respect for the family he gladly obliged." "Didn't know Westcott was so rich." "You never know who's got the money in these parts. But 'tis safe to bet that it isn't the man who spends most. There's Mr. Timothy Waite, too, he lent Nathan a thousand, six months ago. Some cock-and-bull story your poor brother told him, and of course, for such a man, he gladly obliged. Each that he raised money from thought he was the only one asked, of course." "He was a rogue, and the worst sort of rogue--a chapel-going, preaching, generous-handed, warm-hearted rogue. Such men are the thieves of virtue. 'Tis an infamous story." The lawyer stared, and Humphrey continued.