"Now, tell me all about it. Of course most of those who come to me are in trouble of some sort or other and I have to be careful. If the police knew anything, well——" and he gestured to indicate the trouble it would mean for him.
"All right, but don't try that rot with me. Either you can sell me what I've asked for, or you can't. So out with it. I don't care which way it is; and this place of yours stinks so that I don't want to stop in it and be suffocated."
He leered as if this were rather a good joke or a compliment. "I might be able to manage it, but——"
I broke in with an impatient oath. "I don't want any 'might be.' Can you or can't you? Be quick about it, too. If you can, how much?" This was evidently the right line with him and he grinned appreciatively.
"That's the way to talk. Shall we say 150 marks?"
"How much?" I cried with a regular spasm of astonishment. "Say it again, man."
"A hundred and fifty marks."
I sat back and stared at him. "Do you think I want to deal wholesale and set up in the business myself? I only want one, you infernal old humbug;" and I roared with laughter.
He was accustomed to being abused and joined in the laugh, combing his tousled red beard with his filthy fingers. "Well, how much then?"
"Oh, a couple of marks or so."