Speedwell made a deferential movement, and his smile became still more oily and ingratiating.
“Now, Mr. Cheyne, sir, you mustn’t think too much of that. That was what we might call in the way of business.” He glanced sideways at Cheyne from his little foxy close-set eyes. “You can’t complain, sir, but what I answered your questions, and you’ll admit you got value for your money.”
“I don’t understand you,” Cheyne returned sharply. “Do you mean that that tale you told me was a lie, and that you weren’t employed by these people to find the man who burgled their house?”
Speedwell rubbed his hands together more vigorously.
“A little business expedient, sir, merely an ordinary little business expedient. It would be a foolish man who would not display his wares to the best advantage. I’m sure, sir, you’ll agree with that.”
Cheyne looked at him fiercely for a moment.
“You infernal rogue!” he burst out hotly. “Then your tale to me was a tissue of lies, and on the strength of it you cheated me out of my money! Now you’ll hand that £150 back! Do you hear that?”
Speedwell’s smile became the essence of craftiness.
“Not so fast, sir, not so fast,” he purred. “There’s no need to use unpleasant language. You asked for a thing and agreed to pay a certain price. You got what you asked for, and you paid the price you agreed. There was no cheating there.”
Cheyne was about to retort, but French, suave and courteous, broke in: