"Got what?"
"It."
"Yes," said Arthur, comprehending.
"Are you sure? Show it me. Better give it me. It will be safer with me."
Arthur unbuttoned his overcoat, took off his left glove, and drew from one of his pockets a small, bright object, which shone under the street lamp. Simeon took it silently. Then he definitely seized the arms of the barrow, and the procession started up the street.
No time had been lost, for Simeon had an extraordinary gift of celerity. It was eleven minutes to seven. Nevertheless, Arthur felt the pincers, and the feel of the pincers made him look at his watch.
"See here," said Simeon, briefly. "You needn't worry. We shall catch that train. We've got twenty minutes, and we shall get to the station in nine." The exertion of wheeling the barrow over what was practically a sheet of rough ice made him speak in short gasps.
Impossible for the pincers and the anvil to remain in face of that assured, almost god-like tone!
"Good!" murmured Arthur. "By Jove, but it's cold though!"
"I've never been hotter in my life," said Simeon, puffing. "Except in my hands."