"But, monsieur, behold!" said Judas, pointing to the prescription, "No. XII."
"Yes, that's twelve, sure enough," observed Fanks, trying to appear calm, but feeling excited at the thought that he had stumbled on some tangible evidence at last.
"Did you make up the pills?"
"Yes, I myself, monsieur."
"And you are sure you only made up twelve?"
"On my word of honour, monsieur," said Judas, opening his eyes with their guileless look; "but I do not ask monsieur to believe me if he has doubt. Eh, my faith, no! Monsieur my master also counted the pills."
"That is the custom, I believe," said Mr. Fanks, thoughtfully, "a kind of check."
"But certainly, monsieur, without doubt."
At this moment, as if he knew his presence was required, Mr. Wosk walked into the shop, whereupon Monsieur Judas at once explained the matter to him.
"My assistant is—ahem—correct," said Mr. Wosk, sadly, as if he rather regretted it than otherwise. "I remember Mr. Melstane's tonic pills, and I—ahem—did count them. There were—ahem—twelve."