"I reckon they think nothing of pulling out a fistful o' them things hereabouts, mister," he said. "No more to them than sovereigns and half-sovereigns and bank-notes is to bank clerks."
"That's about it," said I. "You'll see them shown in the open street outside."
"Trade of this part of London, isn't it?" he asked.
"Just so," said I. "I'm in it myself." He gave me a sharp inquiring look at that.
"Ah!" he remarked. "Then you'll be a gentleman as knows the vally of a thing o' that sort when you sees it?"
"Well I think so," I answered. "I've been in the trade all my life. Have you got anything to dispose of? I see you're a seafaring man, and I've known sailors who brought something nice home now and then."
"Same here," said he; "but I never known a man as brought anything half as good as what I have."
"Ah!" said I. "Then you have something?"
"That's what I come into this here neighbourhood for, this morning," he answered. "I have something, and a friend o' mine, says he to me, 'Hatton Garden,' he says, 'is the port for you—they eats and drinks and wallers in them sort o' things down that way,' he says.
"So I steers for this here; only, I don't know no fish, d'ye see, as I could put the question to what I wants to ask."