“You do, do you?” responded the other. “Well, then, the only thing is to make the law pay as heavy as possible by getting the picture run up to the dealer’s figure.”
“But the law wouldn’t go for more’n its two pun odd,” protested the jackal.
“O, you fool!” snarled the lion. “It’s the moral profit’s the game, don’t you see? I gain by the very hact what starts of itself to ruin me. It’s as plain as two pins.”
Mr. Gardener scratched his head, and broke into a short laugh.
“Bless you sir,” said he, “it’s clear enough; if on’y you’ll tell me who in all this here place is a-going to run up the dealer, since you can’t yourself.”
Mr. Plumley, bending at the cupboard, did not answer for a moment. When at last he did, rising and facing round, there was a curious pallor on his lips, and he had to clear his throat before he could articulate—
“You, Robert.”
“Me, sir! You’re joking.”
“Never less so, Robert.”
“I ain’t worth a sixpence in the world, sir.”