"He is, and a frightened sort of man. But there's nothing about that opal serpent to make him faint."
"Perhaps he did so because it is in the shape of a serpent," suggested Grexon; "a constitutional failing, perhaps. Some people hate cats and other fluttering birds. Your one-eyed friend may have a loathing of snakes and can't bear to see the representation of one."
"It might be that," said Beecot, after a pause. "Aaron is a strange sort of chap. A man with a past, I should say."
"You make me curious," said Grexon, laughing in a bored manner. "I think I'll go to the shop myself and have a look at him."
"Come with me when I next go," said Paul. "I had intended to call this afternoon; but I won't, until I hear from my mother."
"What about?"
"I want to learn how she came into possession of the brooch."
"Pooh, nonsense," said Hay, contemptuously, "you think too much about the thing. Who cares if a pawnbroker faints? Why I wish to go to the shop, is, because I am anxious to see your lady-love. Well, when you do want me to go, send for me; you have my address. 'Day, old man," and the gorgeous being sauntered away, with apparently not a care in the world to render him anxious.
Paul was anxious, however. The more he thought of the episode of the brooch the stranger it seemed, and Sylvia's talk of her father's queer habits did not make Paul wonder the less. However, he resolved to write to his mother, and was just mounting his stairs to do so when he heard a "Beg pardon, sir," and beheld the working man, bag of tools, pipe and all.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, civilly, "but that gentleman you was a-talking to. Know his name, sir?"