WINSOR. Phew! [Again the faint tone of outrage, that a man should have so much money about him].
DE LEVIS. I sold my Rosemary filly to-day on the course to Bentman the bookie, and he paid me in notes.
WINSOR. What? That weed Dancy gave you in the Spring?
DE LEVIS. Yes. But I tried her pretty high the other day; and she's in the Cambridgeshire. I was only out of my room a quarter of an hour, and I locked my door.
WINSOR. [Again outraged] You locked—
DE LEVIS. [Not seeing the fine shade] Yes, and had the key here. [He taps his pocket] Look here! [He holds out a pocket-book] It's been stuffed with my shaving papers.
WINSOR. [Between feeling that such things don't happen, and a sense that he will have to clear it up] This is damned awkward, De Levis.
DE LEVIS. [With steel in his voice] Yes. I should like it back.
WINSOR. Have you got the numbers of the notes?
DE LEVIS. No.