"Garn," said J. Driver, with a dig in the ribs that made him jump. "Garn! you old dodger. What about Government contracts?"
"What about them?" asked Mr. Toft, shrinking from his familiarity.
"What about them?" echoed the other. "What about work you never did, for which you've got false receipts? What about contracts executed with inferior stuff? What about commissions to officials, tips to men, and plunder all round?"
Mr. Toft paled at this catalogue of his business achievements. "You are misinformed," he said. "My firm does not do such things."
J. Driver thrust his tongue into his cheek. "Then how did you get your contracts, Septimus?" he asked.
"By honest competition in the open market," replied Mr. Toft loftily.
Mr. Driver laughed derisively. "Lord!" he said at last, "I wish I had your artless style. Stick to it, Mister, in the prisoner's dock. It may pull you through."
"I presume you haven't asked me here simply for the purpose of insulting me?" said Mr. Toft, with some dignity.
"What a man you are!" Mr. Driver replied, with unstinted admiration. "You must be a thought-reader, Septimus—a bloomin' thought-reader. You're quite right; I haven't. I've come for the loan of a key, and one of your visitin' cards."