As Bindle promenaded the High Street, his manner was one of expectancy. Twice he looked at his watch and, when walking in the direction of Putney Hill, he would turn and cast backward glances along the High Street. During his second perambulation he encountered Mrs. Bindle hurrying in the direction of Mr. Hearty's new shop. He accorded her a salute that would have warmed the heart of a Chief Commissioner of the Police.
Meanwhile Mr. Hearty was gazing lovingly at the curved double brass-rail that adorned his window, looking like a harvest festival decoration. Mr. Hearty believed in appearances. He would buy persimmons, li-chis, bread-fruit, and custard-apples, not because he thought he could sell them; but because they gave tone to his shop. Those who had not heard of persimmons and li-chis were impressed because Mr. Hearty was telling them something they did not know; those who had heard of, possibly eaten, them were equally impressed, because he was reminding them of Regent Street and Piccadilly. As Bindle phrased it, Mr. Hearty was "a damn good greengrocer."
Mr. Hearty was interrupted in his contemplation of the fruity splendour of his genius by the entry of a customer, at least something had come between him and the light of the sun.
He turned, started violently and stared. Then he blinked his eyes and stared again. A man had entered wearing a silk-faced frock-coat of dubious fit and doubtful age, a turn-down collar, a white tie and trousers that concertinaed over large ill-shaped boots. On his head was a black felt hat, semi-clerical in type, insured against any sudden vagary of the wind by a hat-guard.
Mr. Hearty gazed at the man, his eyes dilated in astonishment. He stared at the stranger's sunken, sallow cheeks, at his heavy moustache, at his mutton-chop whiskers. The man was his double: features, expression, clothes; all were the same.
"'Ullo! 'Earty! Put me down for a cokernut an' an onion."
Bindle, who had entered at that moment, dug the stranger in the ribs from behind. He turned round upon his assailant, then Bindle saw Mr. Hearty standing in the shadow. He looked from him to the stranger and back again with grave intentness. Both men regarded Bindle.
"Good afternoon, Joseph," said Mr. Hearty at length in his toneless voice, that always seemed to come from somewhere in the woolly distance.
"Good afternoon, Joseph," said the stranger in a voice that was a very clever imitation of that of Mr. Hearty.
Bindle fumbled in the breast-pocket of his tunic and produced a box of matches. Going up to Mr. Hearty he struck a match. Mr. Hearty started back as if doubtful of his intentions. Bindle proceeded to examine Mr. Hearty's features by the flickering light of the match, then turning to the stranger, he went through the same performance with him. Finally pushing his cap back he scratched his head in perplexity.