“But I haven’t twenty pounds with me,” objected Andy.
“If you send a cheque to-night that I can get by first post in the morning, it’ll do,” said the owner. “Then your man can drive it back with him to-night. But I must have the money first thing in the morning.”
“Very well,” said Andy. “So long as you can assure me that the transaction is perfectly honest and legal. I must have some proof that you really are the owner of the circus.”
“Come in here,” said the man sullenly, marching into the Blue Tiger and addressing the highly respectable landlord of that inn. “Look here. Am I the owner of Kennington’s Royal Circus, or am I not?”
“You are,” said the landlord, whom nothing astonished any more.
“You’ll swear it?” said the man.
The landlord cocked a placid and incurious eye at Andy.
“If necessary I’ll swear it,” he said weightily. “Mr. Deane of Gaythorpe, I believe?”
“Er—yes,” said Andy. “A little matter of business——”
“Quite so,” said the landlord. “Quite so.”