Brown turned to his companion.
“Well, that’s that, Len,” he said, “you’ll just have to let the money go. It is a pity,” he said wistfully and his companion grunted.
That ended the conversation so far as the journey was concerned, and Timothy heard no more until he was in the gloomy courtyard at Euston Station and stepping into his taxi.
To his surprise it was the red-haired man who approached him, and something in his manner prevented Timothy from taking the action which he otherwise would have thought necessary.
“Look here, young fellow,” he said, “you watch Brown—he’s wild.”
“You’re not exactly tame,” smiled Timothy.
“Don’t take any notice of me,” said the man a little bitterly. “I am engaged in the rough work. I should have got two hundred out of your money—that’s what made me so wild. Brown paid all my expenses and gives me ten pound a week and a commission. It sounds funny to you, doesn’t it, but it is the truth,” and somehow Timothy knew that the man was not lying.
“He’s finished with me—says I am a hoodoo,” said the little man. “Do you know what I’ve got out of five weeks’ work? Look!”
He held out his hand and disclosed two ten-pound notes.
“Brown’s dangerous,” he warned Timothy. “Don’t you make any mistake about that. I was only wild because I was losing my money, but he’s wild because you’ve got fresh with him and caught him out every time. Good night!”