"There's people in the 'Ouse," Moss wagged an admonitory finger towards 'Change, and his tone was bitter but envious, "who've robbed by the million, an' what do we see?"
T. B. Smith shook his head.
"We see," said the indignant young man, "motor-cars, an' yachts, an' race-horses—because they 'aven't been found out!"
"Moral," mused T. B. Smith: "don't allow yourself——"
"I know, I know." Moss loftily waved aside the dubious morality of Mr. Assistant-Commissioner Smith. "But I was found out. Twelve months in the second division. Is that justice?"
"It all depends," cautiously, "what you mean by justice. I thought the sentence was rather light."
"Look here, Mr. Smith," said Mr. Moss firmly; "let's put the matter another way round. Here's Baggin's case, an' Grayson's case. Now, I ask you, man to man, are these chaps dead?"
T. B. Smith was discreetly silent.
"Are they dead?" again demanded Moss, with emotion. "You know jolly well they ain't. You know as well as I do who's at the bottom of these bear raids to send the market into the mud. I know them raids!" In his excitement Mr. Moss got farther and farther away from the language of his adoption. "They smell o' Baggin, George T. Baggin; he's operatin' somewhere. I recognise the touch. George T. Baggin, I tell you, an', as the good book says, his right hand hath not lost its cunnin'."
"And," said T. B. Smith, blandly ignoring the startling hypothesis; "what is Mr. Moss doing now to earn the bread, butter, and et ceteras of life?"