"Yes," he said, in answer, "we had some of that stuff lately. Sold well, too, considering the time of the year." He pulled open a drawer and took out a fat, canvas-covered book. "Two gross rifles; one hundred gross cartridges." He closed the book, tossed it into the drawer and then slid the drawer shut. "There were a few bayonets, too. About half a dozen."
With his round, fat countenance shining with admiration, Mr. Bernstine once more caught Pendleton's eye.
"Just full of it," he murmured, sotto voce. "As full as he can be."
"The bayonets," said Ashton-Kirk, "are what we are after. They were all sold, I suppose?"
"Yes," replied Sime. "I remember, when the last one went, saying to one of our men that we were lucky. You see, bayonets don't sell very well except to military companies; and they are not organizing every day."
"Do you know who bought them?"
Sime took the marking pencil from behind his ear and proceeded to scratch his head with its point. Mr. Bernstine watched him anxiously. But when the shipping clerk pulled open the drawer once more, the employer's face lighted up.
"Ah!" said he to Pendleton. "The books! Now we'll have it."
"They were all taken away by the people who bought them," announced Sime, after a great flipping of ink spattered pages, "All except one."
"And that one—"