The hour happily being that usually devoted to siesta, Mr. Dobb found Mr. Lock quite alone at his post in the billiard-room at the “Royal William Hotel.”
Mr. Dobb at once put to Mr. Lock a direct question.
“Well, I don’t know,” murmured Mr. Lock, reflectively. “There’s two or three of ’em. ’Specially at billiards. But, on the whole, I should say that Sinnett is. Come to think of it, I’m pretty certain he is. I don’t know where you’d find a bigger, anyway.”
“Ah, but does ’e think ’e’s smart?” asked Mr. Dobb. “That’s the kind of mug I’m after.”
“He’s the sort what’s so busy thinking about his cleverness,” replied Mr. Lock, “that he don’t have a moment to spare for finding out what a fool he really is.”
“That’s the sort what’s good for trade,” declared Mr. Dobb, appreciatively. “’E’s just the kind of chap I’m needing.”
“What’s the game this time?” asked Mr. Lock.
“Hidols’ heyes,” said Mr. Dobb. “I been reading a book,” he continued in response to Mr. Lock’s uncomprehending stare. “And there was a hidol in it what ’ad real hemerald heyes, and this ’ere hidol was stole from a temple somewhere out foreign by a couple of chaps what didn’t know about its heyes, and there wasn’t half some murders and niggers and things in it.”
“Why, that’s a old, old plot,” said Mr. Lock, disparagingly. “You’re losing your dash, ’Orace. Fancy you having to go to books to learn anything!”
“P’r’aps it’ll be a noo enough plot so far as this ’ere Mr. Sinnett is concerned,” observed Mr. Dobb, unruffled.