“Well, yes, that’s what it really is,” acquiesced Mr. Dobb, very smoothly. “Only you call it that again, and up goes the price a quid a time! See?”
Mr. Bindley, snorting, laid his palm on the handle of the door.
“They tells me Miss Delafayne ’as got a dooce of a temper,” observed Mr. Dobb, irrelevantly.
Mr. Bindley plucked open the door and marched out. Five yards away he halted and came back again to the threshold.
“What’s that got to do with it?” he demanded.
“It’s a lovely shandyleary,” declared Mr. Dobb.
“To blazes with your shandyleary, and you too!” bawled the choleric Mr. Bindley. “Why don’t you speak straight out?”
“Just what I’m going to,” answered Mr. Dobb; and abruptly abandoned his pose of suavity. “Look ’ere, Bindley, I’ve got you tied up tight! See? ’Ere, glance at that little notice on the wall there. ‘Strictly Business!’ that says, don’t it? Well, that’s my motter. I’ve been planning to sell you that shandyleary, and I’m going to.”
“Huh!” scornfully returned Mr. Bindley.
“Huh-ing or no huh-ing, I’m going to! You can’t ’elp yourself. You’ve been trying a bit of artfulness with the public over them lost jewels, so you can’t squeal if some one else tries ’is artfulness on you. Fust of all, you don’t mind admitting I’ve got that parcel of coloured beads and brass, do you? Suppose I goes and calls in the first ten chaps I meet outside and tells ’em ’ow that jew’l’ry come into my ’ands? That would make you look pretty foolish, wouldn’t it?”