He's a slim, thin-blooded, sharp-faced gent, well along in the thirties, I should judge, with gray showin' in his forelock, and a dear little mustache pointed at the ends; the sort of chappy who wears a braid-bound cutaway and a wrist watch, you know. He's temptin' his customers with silver-set turquoise necklaces, and abalone cuff links, and moonstone sets, and such; doin' it dainty and airy, and incidentally displayin' a job of manicurin' that's the last word in fingernail decoration. Such smooth, highbrow conversation goes with it too!
"Oh, yes, Madam," I overhears him gurgle. "Quite so, I assuah you. We import these direct from Cairo; genuine scarabs, taken from ancient mummy cases. No, not Rameses; these are of the Thetos period. Rather rare, you know. And here is an odd trifle, if you will permit me. Oh, no trouble at all. Really! When we find persons of such discriminating taste as you undoubtedly have we——"
"Say," I remarks low to Steele, "he's some swell kidder, ain't he? He'll be chuckin' her under the chin next. What a sweet thing he is! It's a shame to waste all that on a side street too. He ought to be farther up in the shoppin' district and on the avenue."
"Do you think so?" says J. Bayard. "I've been considering that—setting him up in first-class style on a big scale. But of course I should like to be sure that is what he wants most."
"That's my best guess," says I. "I'll bet he'd eat it up. Spring it on him and see."
"Perhaps I will when he's through," says J. Bayard. "There! They're going now."
He was wrong: they was only startin' to go. They had to come back twice and look at something all over again, after which Gerald follows 'em to the door and holds it open for 'em while they exchange a few last words. So it's ten minutes or more before Steele has a chance to call him over, get him planted in the extra chair, and begin breakin' the news to him about Pyramid's batty will.
And even after all them years Webb flushes pink in the ears at the mention of the name. "Oh, yes, Gordon," says he. "I—I did hold a position at one time in his office. Misunderstanding? Not at all. He treated me shamefully. Rank injustice, it was! He—he was by no means a gentleman, by no means!"
"I hear you tried to assassinate him with a mop," says I.
"I—I was not quite myself," says Gerald, colorin' still more. "You see, he put me in such a false position before those Chicago men; and when I tried to tell them the truth he—well, he acted brutally. I ask you, Mr. McCabe, what would you have done?"