Smith held up the flower at which everybody glared. The little ivory hammer circled round Mr. Primrose’s head. It was about to fall, when a quiet man with a long beard who hitherto had not joined in the bidding, lifted his head and said softly:
“Eighteen hundred.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Primrose, “I thought so. I thought that the owner of the greatest collection in England would not see this treasure slip from his grasp without a struggle. Against you, Mr. Woodden.”
“Nineteen, sir,” said Woodden in a stony voice.
“Two thousand,” echoed the gentleman with the long beard.
“Twenty-one hundred,” said Woodden.
“That’s right, Mr. Woodden,” cried Mr. Primrose, “you are indeed representing your principal worthily. I feel sure that you do not mean to stop for a few miserable pounds.”
“Not if I knows it,” ejaculated Woodden. “I has my orders and I acts up to them.”
“Twenty-two hundred,” said Long-beard.
“Twenty-three,” echoed Woodden.