You can't mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they're all I've got in the world!' Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled.
Dick walked up and down, thinking.

He saw the whole of his little stock in trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of his campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught aright, who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for which Dick had not the least reverence.

The injustice of the proceedings did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong.
But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and when he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained sweetness that Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife.
'Forgive me, sir, but you have no--no younger man who can arrange this business with me ?' 'I speak for the syndicate.

I see no reason for a third party to----' 'You will in a minute.

Be good enough to give back my sketches.' The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning against the wall.