"What was the colour of your Gladstone
bag, eh?" The Datchet Diamonds. Page 82.
The pair looked at Mr. Paxton, then at each other, then back at Mr. Paxton, then again at each other. The German-American waggled his lean forefinger.
"He is very difficult, Mr. Paxton--very difficult indeed, eh? He understand nothing. It is strange. But it is like that sometimes, eh?"
Mr. Lawrence interposed.
"Look here, I'll be plain enough, even for you, Mr. Paxton. Have you got my Gladstone bag?"
Mr. Lawrence still spoke softly, but as he put his question Mr. Paxton was conscious that his eyes were fixed on him with a singular intentness, and his friend's eyes, and the eyes of the man who half concealed them with his hat, and, unless he was mistaken, the eyes of another shabby individual who was seated at a second table, between himself and the door. Indeed, he had a dim perception that sharp eyes were watching him from all over the spacious room, and that they waited for his words. Still, he managed to retain very fair control over his presence of mind.
"Your Gladstone bag! I! What the deuce do you mean?"
"What I say--have you got my Gladstone bag?"
Mr. Paxton drew himself up. Something of menace came on to his face and into his eyes. His tone became hard and dry.