Besides, it’s too late now. We’ll see him tomorrow morning.” With an obvious effort Brant controlled himself. Once more his face became blank and indifferent.
“Do you keep a record of the orders you’ve taken?” he asked.
“Why, yes,” George returned, wondering why he changed the subject so abruptly.
“Got it with you?”
George produced a tattered notebook, and Brant took it from him He examined the pages covered with George’s neat writing and then he glanced up.
“This the lot? I mean from the time you started?” George nodded blankly
“Robinson owes you thirty quid. Do you realize that?”
“As much as that?” George was doubtful. “Well, it can’t be helped. I shan’t get it from him He never has any money.”
“We’ll see about that,” Brant said, slipping the notebook into his pocket. He finished his lemonade with a grimace, put a shilling on the counter and turned to the door. “Come on,” he went on impatiently.
“It’s no good tonight,” George protested feebly. As he spoke the bar hand began to call, “Time, gents. Time if you please.”