Mr. Limpet, junior, looked on. That was his rôle in life. He was born to look on, and he did it admirably. Presently the beadle of the Burlington and a policeman came upon the scene. Liz was carried into a shop, and the crowd dispersed.
Mr. Knivett had not remained long. He had no idle curiosity to gratify, and a girl in hysterics had no charm for him. He was out of the Burlington and down the other end of Bond Street before young Limpet strolled out of the arcade.
Mr. Knivett was disappointed. He had found nothing in the pocket but a cheque-book; but that evening when he handed it over to his employer he was delighted to receive £5 as the price of his day’s work.
‘I was afraid I’d lost a day, gov’nor,’ he said, clutching the gold in his hand.
‘Not a bit of it, Boss,’ answered Mr. Preene. ‘We can do with as many blank cheques as you can bring us. My firm will always pay a fair price for them.’
That evening Mr. Knivett, looking in to see some friends at a lodging-house in the Mint, told them that Seth Preene knew a firm that was in the market for blank cheques.
For which information the friends were not grateful, one of them even going so far as to say that it was stale news.
And seeing that the gentlemen of the Mint had taken all the blank cheques found in pocket-books and all the cheque-books ‘removed from offices’ to Smith and Co.—or rather to the representative of Smith and Co., for the firm never dealt direct—for the past month, the reader will perceive that Mr. Boss Knivett has much to learn before he takes high rank in his profession.
Mr. Limpet, junior, forgot all about the cheque-book till his father asked him for it that evening.