“All content? Four bob in the box? I’ll just show you them again.”
He did so. As he closed the box for the last time, his voice changed as though he were trying to suppress his satisfaction at having got through his sleight of hand without detection.
“Now, Wraxall. I’ll sell you the box as it stands for three bob. Take the offer?”
Wraxall pondered for an instant.
“It’s this coinage bother,” he explained. “Three bob? That’s three shillings, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m offering to self you the thing for three shillings. You think it contains four shillings—two florins. I don’t guarantee that. I simply sell the box, matches included with the other contents. Going . . . going . . .”
“I take you!” snapped Wraxall, certain that he would have detected any legerdemain.
“Right-o!” agreed Douglas, pleasantly. “You win. Here’s the box. I’ll just go through the formality of collecting your three bob, though.”
He tossed the box over to Wraxall, who caught it and paid Douglas three shillings. The conjurer grinned mockingly.
“Quite satisfied with your bargain? Have a look inside the box. Both florins present and correct? You’ll be glad to see your own one again!”