“I’ll do that part for you! I’d like to make Maurice sit up. He hasn’t been very nice to me lately; and I want to pay him out just a little.”
“Nonsense, Una,” Cecil interrupted. “You can’t be mixed up in a joke of this sort. There’s almost bound to be a row after it. It doesn’t matter in my case; Maurice has his knife into me anyway, you know. But there’s no need for you to be getting your fingers nipped.”
Una brushed the suggestion aside.
“What can Maurice do to me even if he does find out? I’ve nothing to do with him. And, besides, how is he going to find out anything about it? I suppose you’ll just keep the things for a day or two and then return them by some way that he can’t trace. He’ll never know who did it, unless we let it out ourselves. And we mustn’t let it out, of course.”
Foxy nodded his agreement. Cecil was longer in his consideration; but at last he seemed to fall in with the arrangement.
“Well, so long as Una’s name isn’t mixed up in it, Foxy, I’m your man. It’s a silly caper; but I’m not above going into it for the sport of vexing my good brother.”
“Right!” said Foxy, with relief. “Now the next article: What’s the best thing to go for? It must be portable, of course.”
Cecil pondered for a moment; then, as a thought struck him, he laughed.
“Here’s the game. It may be news to you, Foxy, but my good brother is taking steps to sell off our collections.”
Foxy was quite plainly staggered by this news.