Free A Coat of Varnish by C. P. Snow

it. They get a little cash selling gossip round Fleet Street. Some of them don’t even get cash, they just think it’s useful to be in with the journalists. I dare say that you’re not entirely surprised.’
    ‘It’s fairly common knowledge.’
    ‘I dare say you wouldn’t be entirely surprised about who these lefty boys are.’
    Humphrey was accustomed to persons trying to make him indiscreet about his old profession. He just said: ‘Of course, you must know them personally yourself.’
    Thirkill didn’t press further, too full of his complaints and intentions.
    ‘I can’t get my hands on them,’ he said, in the curious grinding tone which had, minutes before, taken Humphrey by surprise. ‘By God, I should like to. They’re doing their worst for all of us. By God, they’re doing their worst for me. But I can get my hands on these journalists they’ve fed. And their wretched rags and everyone connected with them. I’ve been waiting. It was good to wait until they had overplayed their hands. I don’t mind telling you, it took some patience to wait when you saw what people were thinking. And what your family was going through. But it was worth it. No one had the score right except my lawyers and me. A handful of writs went out on Friday night. They’re going to pay. I’m not a vindictive man, Humphrey, and I wouldn’t say it in any vindictive spirit. But when these fellows have been trying to ruin me I don’t care if I see them starving in the streets.’
    ‘What are the chances? What do the lawyers say?’
    ‘What do you take me for?’
    To an extent, this conversation was what Humphrey had been in search of. But he realised that, except for this news about the writs, which in any case would be public within an hour, he had learned almost nothing. Thirkill gave the impression of entering into intimacy. He seemed to be making confessions and then made none, except what one could infer. This continued when Thirkill went on, using all his emotional power, which was considerable, to demand sympathy and help. He wanted sympathy and help in what others thought of his financial operation. It was hard, he said, for an honest man to be written off by people who didn’t understand the first thing about finance. It had come easy to him since he was very young. It was a flair, he said, to be able to think about money. Playing the exchanges was like playing bridge. You had to guess how other people would play, mainly people not too bright at any other game. It was no use if you let yourself be too far-sighted; money wasn’t made that way.
    None of this contradicted Luria’s view of how Thirkill had performed. Whether it was true, Humphrey hadn’t the insight or knowledge to form any opinion at all. The most he could do was ask again whether Thirkill was totally confident about the legal cases. Thirkill said: ‘They won’t even fight them. They’ll never come to court.’
    Some mud always sticks, he broke out, demanding sympathy again. But in responsible circles his name would be as good as it ever was.
    By this time, Humphrey, though he couldn’t be sure of the factual truths (all evening had kept recurring a gibe of a fellow member of the Commons, if Tom Thirkill tells you the time, it’s just as well to check it by your own watch), had one or two definite impressions.
    This man’s confidence didn’t go deep. He was borne up by something like physical hopefulness. Whether he was certain that he would be vindicated, or whether he should be, Humphrey couldn’t penetrate. But Humphrey was sure that, long before this trouble, all his life, Thirkill had never had the underlying confidence of less aggressive characters, such as Luria or young Paul Mason. And, though it didn’t occur to Humphrey, he might have added himself. Thirkill, though, had reserves and compensation none of them possessed, great attacking force, and a savage will. Whether his will was stronger than other men’s, that needed testing; but