Consider Her Ways (25 page)

‘No,
I suppose not,' Sam Gripshaw admitted. ‘All the same, you might as well. You can't go on with it –'

‘Because if we were to, we'd bust your industry? Well, we don't want to do that, of course. In fact that is why we are here. Mr Batruel has a proposition to put to you.'

‘Let's hear it,' said Mr Gripshaw.

Batruel rose to his feet.

‘You have a very fine business here, Mr Gripshaw. It would be most unfortunate if it were to lose the confidence of the public – both for them, and for yourself. I don't need to stress that, for I perceive that you have refrained from giving any publicity to my friend, Mr Tramon's, third win. Very wise of you, Sir, if I may say so. It could initiate a subtle breath of despondency …

‘Now, I am in the fortunate position of being able to propose a means by which the risk of such a situation occurring again can be positively eliminated. It will not cost you a penny, and yet …' He launched himself into his temptation with the air of an artist taking up his beloved brush. Sam Gripshaw heard him through patiently to his conclusion:

‘– and, in return for this – this mere formality, I am willing to undertake that neither our friend, Mr Stephen Tramon, here, nor anyone else will receive any further assistance in er – prognostication from me. The emergency will then be over, and you will then be able to pursue your business with the confidence that I am sure it so well merits.'

He produced his form of Pact with a flourish, and laid it on the desk.

Sam Gripshaw reached for it, and glanced through it. Rather to Stephen's surprise, he nodded, almost without hesitation.

‘Seems straight enough,' he said. ‘I can see I'm not well placed to argue. All right. I'll sign.'

Batruel smiled happily. He stepped forward, with a small, convenient penknife in his hand.

When the signing was done Sam Gripshaw wrapped a clean handkerchief round his forearm. Batruel picked up the pact and
took a step back, waving it gently to dry the signature. Then he inspected it with simple pleasure, folded it with care, and placed it in his pocket.

He beamed upon them both. In his elation, his sense of period slipped again. He made his elegant eighteenth-century bow.

‘Your servant, gentlemen.'

And, abruptly, he was gone, leaving nothing but the faintest trace of sulphur on the air.

It was Sam Gripshaw who broke the following silence.

‘Well, that's got rid of
him
– and he can't get back until somebody raises him,' he added, with satisfaction. He turned to contemplate Stephen. ‘You've not done so badly, young man, have you?
You
pocket more than half a million for selling him
my
soul. That's what I call business ability. Wish I'd had more of it when I was younger.'

‘Well, you, at any rate, don't seem to be very perturbed about it,' Stephen said, with a perceptible note of relief in his voice.

‘No. Doesn't worry me,' Mr Gripshaw told him. ‘
He's
the one who's going to be worried. Makes you think, doesn't it? Thousands of years him and his lot have been in business – and
still
got no system into it. What you need today is organization – the whole business at your finger-tips so you know where you are, and what's what. Too old-fashioned by half, that lot. Time they got some efficiency experts on to it.'

‘Well, not very subtle perhaps,' agreed Stephen. ‘But then, his need
is
rather specialized, and he
has
got what he was after.'

‘Huh! You wait till he's had time to look in the files – if they know what files are down there. How do you think I ever managed to raise enough capital to start this place …?'

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First published in Great Britain by Michael Joseph 1961
Published in Penguin Books 1965
This edition published 2014

Copyright © the Estate of John Wyndham, 1956, 1961

Cover illustration © Brian Cronin

All rights reserved

The moral right of the copyright holder has been asserted

ISBN: 978-0-241-97106-2