"But you mustn't say anything to him."
"No—of course not."
"Very well, I'll bet you."
Mr Gale walked straight up to the shabby man, drew half-a-sovereign from his waistcoat pocket, and held it out. At the same time he pointed to the shabby man's boots, and then in the most unmistakable way he pointed to the exit of the platform. He said nothing, but his gestures were expressive, and what they clearly expressed was: "I know you've got a half-sovereign under your foot; here's another half-sovereign for you to clear off and ask no questions."
Meanwhile the ingenious offerer of the half-sovereign was meditating thus: "I give half-a-sovereign, but I shall gather up the other half-sovereign, and I shall also win my bet. Net result: Half-a-crown to the good."
The shabby man, who could not have been a fool, comprehended at once, accepted the half-sovereign, and moved leisurely away—not, however, without glancing at the ground which his feet had covered. The result of the scrutiny evidently much surprised him, as it surprised, in a degree equally violent, both Mr Gale and Mr Sandbach. For there was no sign of half-a-sovereign under the feet of the shabby man. There was not even nine and elevenpence there.
Mr Gale looked up very angry and Mr Sandbach looked very foolish.
"This is all very well," Mr Gale exploded in tones low and fierce. "But I call it a swindle." And he walked, with an undecided, longing, shrinking air, in the wake of the shabby man who had pocketed his half-sovereign.
"I'm sure I saw him put his foot on it," said Mr Sandbach in defence of himself (meaning, of course, the other half-sovereign), "and I've never taken my eyes off him."
"Well, then, how do you explain it?"