“And what a—yes, you might call it—wealth of curiosities he’s gathered about him,” he continued. “Odds and ends of all sorts. Now, there’s an object that’s attracted my attention—a very pretty article!”
He rose suddenly, and walking across to the sideboard, picked up the copper box, holding it to the light, and examining it with exaggerated admiration.
“Beautiful bit of work, Mr.—Craye, I think—beautiful!” he said, unctuously. “Not made yesterday, that, sir. Old coat-of-arms, you see, and a motto. Um! You don’t happen to know whose family coat-of-arms that is, Mr. Craye?”
“No, I don’t,” said I. “Do you?”
“No, sir, no! as I remarked—when I saw you and the young lady down the road—I’m a learner, a novice, a neophyte, Mr. Craye,” he replied. “Fine coat-of-arms, though, that—and a peculiar motto. Now what would you take those words to signify, Mr. Craye?”
Before I could reply, we heard Parslewe coming back, and Mr. Pawley hastily put down the copper box and retreated to his chair, for all the world as if he had been caught or been about to be caught in the act of stealing something.
“These antiquaries!” he murmured, with a cautioning wink at me, “I know ’em!—they don’t like their treasures handled. Precious! Old pots—worth sixpence to some people—worth their weight in gold, to them. Just so!”
Parslewe came into the room with a sheet of notepaper in his hand; Mr. Pawley received it with gratitude as exaggerated as his admiration of the copper box. And presently he said that he must now be moving; I am sure it was with a desire to speed his departure that Parslewe offered to show him down the stair and to point out a short cut across the moor. So they vanished, and when Parslewe came back the tea-tray had just been brought in and Madrasia was busy at it. She turned on her guardian as he entered.
“Jimmie!” she exclaimed. “Who on earth was that creature?”
Parslewe laughed as he dropped into his favourite chair.