“Is this right, Mr Timms?” he asked.
The green-grocer examined the paper, and said it was—that five pounds was the exact amount.
“You can put the receipt in your pocket,” said Mr Hazlit, turning round and counting out five sovereigns on the table, which he pushed towards the landlord. “Now, take yourself off, as quietly as you can, else I’ll have you taken up and tried for entering a man’s premises forcibly, and endeavouring to obtain money by intimidation. Go!”
This was a bold stroke on the part of the merchant, whose legal knowledge was not extensive, but it succeeded. The landlord pocketed the money and moved towards the door. Rooney Machowl followed him.
“Rooney!” said Mr Hazlit, calling him back.
“Mayn’t I show him out, sur?” said Rooney, earnestly.
“By no means.”
“Ah, sur, mayn’t I give him a farewell kick?”
“Certainly not.”
Mr Hazlit then expressed a desire to see Mrs Timms, and the green-grocer, thanking the merchant fervently for his timely aid, lighted a candle and led the way into the dark closet.