'You've heard me speak of Denbow?' This was a man who had given him lessons in photography; a dealer in photographic apparatus, with a shop in Westminster Bridge Road. 'He's a very decent fellow, but it's all up with him. His wife drinks, and he has lost money in betting, and now he wants to clear out--to sell his business and get away. He came to me to apologise for spoiling some negatives--he does a little printing for me now and then and told me what he meant to do. Did I know of anyone likely to take his shop?' Harvey laughed. 'You're in with a queer lot of people, it seems to me.' 'Oh, Denbow is all but a gentleman, I assure you. He was educated at Charterhouse, but made a fool of himself, I believe, in the common way. But about his business. I've seen a good deal of it, going in and out, and talking with them, and I know as much about photography as most amateurs--you'll admit that, Rolfe?' It was true that he had attained more than ordinary skill with the camera. Indeed, but for this resource, happily discovered in the days of his hopelessness, he would probably have sunk out of sight before now. 'Denbow's salesman is a thoroughly honest and capable fellow--Hobcraft, his name. He's been at the shop three or four years, and would be only too glad to carry on the business, but he can't raise money, and Denbow must have cash down. Now the fact is, I want to buy that business myself.' 'I see. What does the man ask for it?' Morphew fidgeted a little. 'Well, just at present there isn't much stock--nothing like what there ought to be. Denbow has been coming down the hill; he's stopped himself only just in time. When I first knew him he was doing reasonably well. It's a good position for that kind of shop. Swarms of men, you know, go backwards and forwards along the Westminster Bridge Road, and just the kind of men, lots of them, that take up photography--the better kind of clerk, and the man of business who lives in the south suburbs. And photography is going ahead so. I have all sorts of ideas. One might push the printing branch of the business--and have dark rooms for amateurs--and hit on a new hand-camera--and perhaps even start a paper, call it _Camera Notes_, or something of that kind. Don't smile and look sceptical----' 'Not at all. It seems to me the best suggestion I've heard from you yet.' 'Think so? I'm awfully glad of that. You know, Rolfe, a fellow like myself--decent family, public school, and that kind of thing--naturally fights shy of shopkeeping. But I've got to the point that I don't care what I do, if only it'll bring me a steady income in an honest way. I ought to be able to make several hundreds a year, even at starting, out of that business.' 'Have you spoken of it in the usual quarter?' 'No, I haven't.' Cecil's countenance fell. 'I should if I made a successful start. But I've talked of so many things, I'm ashamed. And she mightn't quite understand; perhaps she would think I was going down--down----'