The Doctor winced and looked furtively at Jean-Marie; but the boy seemed apathetic.
“And then again,” broke out Casimir, “what children you are—vicious children, my faith! How could you tell the value of this trash? It might have been worth nothing, or next door.”
“Pardon me,” said the Doctor. “You have your usual flow of spirits, I perceive, but even less than your usual deliberation. I am not entirely ignorant of these matters.”
“Not entirely ignorant of anything ever I heard of,” interrupted Casimir, bowing, and raising his glass with a sort of pert politeness.
“At least,” resumed the Doctor, “I gave my mind to the subject—that you may be willing to believe—and I estimated that our capital would be doubled.” And he described the nature of the find.
“My word of honour!” said Casimir, “I half believe you! But much would depend on the quality of the gold.”
“The quality, my dear Casimir, was—” And the Doctor, in default of language, kissed his finger-tips.
“I would not take your word for it, my good friend,” retorted the man of business. “You are a man of very rosy views. But this robbery,” he continued—“this robbery is an odd thing. Of course I pass over your nonsense about gangs and landscape-painters. For me, that is a dream. Who was in the house last night?”
“None but ourselves,” replied the Doctor.
“And this young gentleman?” asked Casimir, jerking a nod in the direction of Jean-Marie.