"Thomas Tennant. Rather an alliterative kind of name. Almost like a pseudonym." I sat in silence. "However, there may be some one about with such a name." He slipped the card into his waistcoat pocket. "I shall have pleasure, Mr. Tennant, in calling on you, for my silk handkerchief, in Austin Friars; possibly to-morrow, possibly next week, or the week after--but that I shall call for it, sooner or later, you may rest assured." He looked at me with a grin. "Now that we have transacted that little piece of business, I don't think there is any necessity for me to inflict my company upon you any longer. I may as well get out."
I was thankful for the prospect of a prompt deliverance. But I was not to be rid of him so easily, as his next words showed. He was drumming with his finger-tips on the front of the cab.
"By the way, you were good enough to mention something about a deposit for my handkerchief. I think that, after all, I will trouble you for one."
I advanced my hand towards my pocket.
"With pleasure. If you have no objection, I will buy the handkerchief right out at a liberal price?"
His reply was a sneer.
"Thank you; I am obliged; the handkerchief is not for sale. I prize it too greatly--as a present from my late lamented greatgrandmother. But something on deposit I don't mind."
"How much shall we say?"
"Say--we'll say ten pounds."
"Ten pounds!" I stared at him. The fellow's impudence was increasing. "You are jesting."