A murmur from Agatha nearly broke the spell. Nick, however, intent upon Grimshaw, opened his left hand, and revealed a match, a wax vesta. Grimshaw took it, looked at it, and smiled ingratiatingly:
“What a nice wax match!”
“Aye, same as quality use.”
Grimshaw struck the match on his heel.
“Light up!”
He leaned forward and downward. Nick lighted his cigarette, puffing at it complacently. Grimshaw lighted his, and then blew out the match. With his face still close to Nick’s, he asked suddenly:
“But where is the match-box?”
“I dunno. I lost ’un.”
“What bad luck! You found a silver match-box this afternoon and lost it inside of—of an hour?”
“Yas, I did. How do ’ee know that?”