That same evening the town of Shorehaven found itself furnished with material for thrilling gossip, for scarce a thoroughfare was there that did not exhibit somewhere adown its length the tally of the jewels that the talented lady temporarily living in their midst had had the misfortune to lose. In front of every printed handbill, with its fascinating heading of “£100 Reward,” there lingered an absorbed group, reading amazedly of ropes of pearls, and large and small diamond brooches, of valuable rubies, and rare metals. The manner of their disappearance, and the scene whence they had vanished, were details tactfully left vague, so that the ends of publicity were further served by this opportunity to speculate whether the noted absent-mindedness of genius or mere criminal avarice were responsible for the lady’s loss.
For two full days the town theorized and clicked its tongue, and spoke either sympathetically or sneeringly of the affair. Attendance at the theatre suddenly improved, and appreciation which had been denied to Miss Delafayne as a performer was now showered on her as a lady who was supporting material loss with great dignity. Sceptics there certainly were, but these were in a minority, and their number would have been even less had that perfervid admirer, Mr. Samuel Clark, had the physical powers to convert those disbelievers he happened to encounter.
And then one afternoon Mr. Horace Dobb sent a dictatorial and even arrogant message to Mr. Joseph Bindley, demanding that gentleman’s attendance at the little shop in Fore Street at once. Mr. Bindley, a gentleman plain of speech and blunt of manner, went immediately to Mr. Dobb to ask him what he meant by such a message.
“I got a glass shandyleary what belongs by rights to the ceiling of your theayter,” returned Mr. Dobb, equably, “and I want to sell it to you.”
Mr. Bindley, as became a man who had attained the position of theatrical proprietor, heatedly gave his opinion of such impertinence and strode to the door.
“Ain’t you rather mixed up with me to act so ’aughty?” asked Mr. Dobb, in civil accents.
Mr. Bindley halted and swung round to stare at Mr. Dobb.
“Don’t you get trying to play any tricks with me!” he warned Mr. Dobb. “We’ve got a understanding, and you stick to it, and I stick to it, and there’s an end of it! I don’t want no ’anky-panky!”
“Thirty-five quid—that was what I was going to ask for that shandyleary,” mentioned Mr. Dobb. “Only I’ve ’ad a lot of hincidental expenses with it lately, so I’m asking thirty-eight now. And it’s worth it—well worth it. You ’ave a look at it, and you’ll say so, too. It’s a bargain.”
“What’s the game?” said Mr. Bindley, aggressively. “What are you trying on—a sort of blackmail?”