“Open the door,” said a soft voice. “It’s me. I want to come in.”
“Very likely you do. There’s many more’d like to come in here.”
“Never you mind. Who’re you?”
“You weasel-faced young imp, am I to burst open my own door?”
The mystery was at an end. In a moment, the bolt was withdrawn and Benjamin Tresco stood in his workshop.
But before he spoke, he bolted the door behind him. Then he said, “Well?”
“So you’ve come back?” said Jake, fiercely.
“Looks like it,” said the goldsmith. “How’s things?”
“Gone to the devil. How d’you expect me to keep business goin’ when you go on a howling spree, for weeks?”