“I say, take ’em if you like—hundreds of thousands do. Small boxes one and three-halfpence, large boxes two-and-nine, with the Government stamp.”
“Bah! I know all about that,” said Hopper, rattling a box close to his ear, and then opening it, to show a dozen boluses covered with gold foil. “Have one?”
“No, thanks,” said Dick, smiling. “I know ’em by heart—compound rhubarb and a little new bread. That’s my secret, my fortune, old lad.”
“What!” cried Hopper. “Hey? what! You made your fortune with these?”
“Yes,” said Dick; “the murder’s out now. My bright idea was—The Gilded Pill. But I was not at all proud of it, so I kept it dark.”
“Well, I am blessed,” said Hopper.
“Glad of it. So am I, old man. It’s paid me well, but there was always a skeleton in the cupboard.”
“Hey?”
“Skeleton, old man. I’ve paid thousands to Government for stamps, but they wouldn’t have let me off if anything had gone wrong.”
“But these pills couldn’t go wrong, could they?”