“You might tell me how to get quit of the blasted thing.”
“I’ll try, if you’ll tell me how you got hold of it.”
“Look here!” Staff suddenly aroused to a perception of the fact that he was by way of being artfully pumped. “Does this matter interest you very much indeed?”
“No more, apparently, than it annoys you.... And it is quite possible that, in the course of time, we might like to shut the door.... But, as far as that is, I don’t mind admitting I’m a nosey little beast. If you feel it your duty to snub me, my dear fellow, by all means go to it. I don’t mind—and I dessay I deserve it.”
This proved irresistible; Staff’s humour saved his temper. To the twinkle in Iff’s faded blue eyes he returned a reluctant smile that ended in open laughter.
“It’s just this way,” he explained somewhat to his own surprise, under the influence of an unforeseen gush of liking for this good-humoured wisp of a man—“I feel I’m being shamelessly imposed upon. Just as I was leaving my rooms this morning this hat-box was sent to me, anonymously. I assume that some cheeky girl I know has sent it to me to tote home for her. It’s a certificated nuisance—but that isn’t all. There happens to be a young woman named Searle on board, who has an exact duplicate of this infernal contraption. A few moments ago I saw it, assumed it must be mine, quite naturally claimed it, and was properly called down in the politest, most crushing way imaginable. Hence this headache.”
“So!” said Mr. Iff. “So that is why he doesn’t love his dear little bandbox!... A Miss Earle, I think you said?”
“No—Searle. At least, that was the name on her luggage.”
“Oh—Searle, eh?”
“You don’t happen to know her, by any chance?” Staff demanded, not without a trace of animation.