“Surprising, ain’t it? Anyway, I showed it to a friend of mine, and he said it had evidently been hidden there because it was very rare.”
“Sounds possible,” said Mr. Dobb, his eyes watering under the strain of enforced gravity.
“As it happened, my friend was right,” said Mr. Lane. “Of course, he knew something about old books, and that was why I showed it to him. Anyway, it was a rare old first edition, ever so old, and I sent it up to London, and sold it for thirty guineas!”
“What!” cried Mr. Dobb.
“Sold it for thirty guineas!” repeated Mr. Lane. “Thirty guineas for an old book that anyone who didn’t know its value might have thrown away.”
“Don’t believe it!” declared Mr. Dobb, huskily.
“Well, here’s the cheque,” said Mr. Lane; “and here’s the correspondence.”
Mr. Dobb gazed at the documentary evidence. Then, without a word, he tottered into the shop parlour and took the unprecedented step of drinking a glass of undiluted water. The fortunate Mr. Lane, looking round for other chairs to prod and finding none, went out of the dusty little emporium into the sunshine.
EPISODE VIII
A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE
Mr. Horace Dobb, released from the ministrations of the proprietor of the Magnolia Toilet Saloon, critically inspected the reflection of his shaven chin, and then charged Mr. Joseph Tridge with being a niggard as to face-powder.