He glanced inquisitively at Cecil and Una, as though wondering what they were doing there.
Sir Clinton wasted no words.
“The medallions, Mr. Polegate, please.”
Foxy made a very good pretence of astonishment at the demand; but Cecil cut him short.
“You may as well hand them over, Foxy. They seem to know all about the joke.”
“Oh, they do, do they?” Foxy exclaimed. “They seem to have been mighty swift about it. That little joke’s gone astray, evidently.”
He seemed completely taken aback by the exposure.
“The medallions?” he repeated. “I’ll get ’em for you in a jiffy.”
He walked across to the show-case, fumbled for a moment at the flat base near one of the legs, and from below this he drew out three medallions.
“Stuck ’em there with plasticine as soon as I’d got ’em. After that any one would have turned out my pockets if they’d wanted, see?”