"Well, I'm damned!" he ejaculated. "Two 'Earty's."
"I want a cauliflower, please." It was the stranger who spoke.
Bindle once more proceeded to regard the stranger critically.
"I s'pose you're what they call an alibi," he remarked.
The stranger had no time to reply, as at that moment another man entered. In garb and appearance he was a replica of the first. Mr. Hearty looked as a man might who, without previous experience of alcohol, has just drunk a whole bottle of whisky.
Bindle whistled, grinned, then he smacked his leg vigorously.
"My cauliflower, please," said the first man.
"Good afternoon, Joseph," said the new arrival. The voice was not so good an imitation.
At that moment Smith, Mr. Hearty's right-hand man, thrust his head through the flap in the floor of the shop that gave access to the potato-cellar. He caught sight of the trinity of masters. He gave one frightened glance, ducked his head, and let the flap down with a bang just as a third "Mr. Hearty" entered. He was followed almost immediately by a fourth and fifth. Each greeted Bindle with a "Good-afternoon, Joseph."
Just as the sixth Mr. Hearty entered, Smith pushed up the flap again, this time a few inches only, and with dilated eyes looked out. The sight of seven "masters," as he afterwards confessed to Billy Nips, the errand boy, "shook 'im up crool." Keeping his eyes fixed warily upon the group of men, each demanding a cauliflower, Smith slowly drew himself up and out, letting the cellar-flap down with a bang as he slipped to the back of the shop away from the group. Was he drunk, or only dreaming?