“Nothing doing!” announced Mr. Tridge, stoutly.
“All right,” said Mr. Clark, in the most sinister fashion. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
He withdrew. Mr. Tridge began to whistle a little flatly, as though unaware of the absorbed gaze bent upon him by the other two men present.
“Reminds me—letter to post!” ejaculated Mr. Sinnett, suddenly; and followed after Mr. Clark, in a state of the keenest excitement.
Mr. Clark had proceeded but as far as the tap-room of the “Royal William,” and here Mr. Sinnett unostentatiously took up a strategic position in the chair next to him. For some while Mr. Clark displayed an introspective moodiness, sipping at his refreshment and nodding his head with the same grim air of determination.
But presently he turned towards Mr. Sinnett, and, after eyeing him cautiously, addressed him in the gruff tones of one determined to check any unnecessary extension of talk.
“’Ow much is hemeralds worth?” he asked.
“Emeralds?” fluttered Mr. Sinnett. “Emeralds?” He paused to strive for greater self-control.
“That’s what I said,” observed Mr. Clark, surlily. “Hemeralds. You know, them green stones.”
“It—it depends.”