It was upon the following afternoon that Lyveden swore under his breath. At the time in question he was standing in a large efficient-looking shop which smelt strongly of cordage and was situate in Drury Lane.
The manager was nervously apologetic.
"They've bin on order a week now, sir, but I can't honestly say as I expects them under three. You know what labour is now. In the ole days it was a matter o' 'phonin', an' hanythin' you liked 'd be 'ere by special messenger in 'alf an hour. But now…."
He threw up his hands helplessly.
"Where else can I try?" said Lyveden.
The man mentioned two or three stores—each of them in the City.
"But I don' think you'll get 'em, sir. You might get an hodd one, but 'alf a dozen o' 'Lightnin'' mattocks at the moment is worth their weight."
With a sigh Anthony bowed to the inevitable.
"There's my address," he said, handing the man a slip of paper. "Send me a card the moment they come in."
"I'll set six aside for you, sir."