“You look like a honeymooner, I don’t think,” guffawed Hobbs.
“You wouldn’t laugh if I told you what you really look like,” cried Elkin angrily. “Bet you a level fiver I’m married this year. Now, put up or shut up!”
Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the stairs.
“Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?” he said. “I’m going to town by the next train.”
“You don’t mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the case so soon?” broke in Ingerman.
“Did I say that?” inquired the detective meekly.
“No. One can’t help drawing inferences occasionally.”
“Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He’s been drawing inferences as well as corks, and he’s beat to the world.”
Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
“S’elp me!” he gurgled. “I could ha’ sworn—”