The man who had poked the fire slapped his companion on the back.
“Now’s your chance, Jim!” he cried. “You always said you’d like to have a cut at it.”
“H’m!” muttered the other. “A ‘double’ o’ that fifteen over-proof Jamaica of yours, Sin, would hit me in a tender spot tonight.”
“Lum?” murmured Sin Sin blandly. “No hate got.”
He resumed his seat on the tea-chest, and the raven muttered sleepily, “Sin Sin—Sin.”
“H’m!” repeated the constable.
He raised the skirt of his heavy top-coat, and from his trouser-pocket drew out a leather purse. The eye of Sin Sin Wa remained fixed upon a distant corner of the room. From the purse the constable took a shilling, ringing it loudly upon the table.
“Double rum, miss, please!” he said, facetiously. “There’s no treason allowed nowadays, so my pal’s—”
“I stood yours last night Jim, anyway!” cried the other, grinning. “Go on, stump up!”
Jim rang a second shilling on the table.