“I hardly think that you are anxious to confide in the police,” said Randall, “but it is worth—to me—exactly what I said I would pay for it.”
Mr Brown held out an eager hand for the note. A smile stole over his unprepossessing countenance. “You wanted to know mighty bad, didn't you? I hope you're satisfied, that's all.”
“Quite,” said Randall, and flicked the note into his hand.
After a swift glance at it to make sure that it was correct, Mr Brown thrust it into his pocket and cast another of his puzzled looks at Randall. He watched him put his notecase away and draw on one of his gloves, and suddenly said: “I ain't seen you before, have I?”
“I should think it very unlikely,” said Randall.
Mr Brown stroked his chin. “Funny thing, but the minute you come into the shop I got a feeling I had seen you somewhere.”
Randall paused with his hand stretched out to pick up his malacca cane from the counter, and let Mr Brown see his eyes. “Look again,” he said smoothly. “Have you seen me before?”
Mr Brown's gaze shifted under that curiously vivid, intent stare. “No, I don't know as how I have,” he said uncertainly. “Not to be sure, anyway. Just something in the cut of your jib seemed to strike me as being a bit familiar, that's all. No offence!”
Randall picked up his cane. “None at all,” he replied. “But you have not seen me before, Mr Brown, I can assure you. Nor are you very likely to see me again.”
Mr Brown gave him a knowing leer. “I can keep my mouth shut, don't you worry!” he said.