“My dear Mr. Luke, whatever can have caused you to imagine a thing like that?”
“Well—it’s pretty obvious, ain’t it?”
He grinned. I could have broken his head.
“Is it for the purpose of imparting that information that I am indebted to the pleasure of your presence here?”
“Well no; it ain’t.” He scraped his jaw with his hand, as if to feel if it wanted shaving, which it did. “The fact is, I shouldn’t be surprised if you chanced upon a bit of luck still, if you liked.”
“If I liked! You’re a man of humour.”
“It’s this way.” He hesitated, as if doubtful as to the advisability of telling me which way it was. “It all depends upon whether you’d care to run a trifle of risk.”
“After what I’ve gone through it’d have to be a pretty big trifle of risk which would prevent me snatching a chestnut out of the fire.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He cleared his throat.