"With pleasure, Pugh, if you will tell me what is yours."
"If—if you don't give me what was in the box I'll—I'll send for the police."
"Do! Then I shall be able to hand to them what was in the box in order that it may be restored to its proper owner."
"Its proper owner! I'm its proper owner!"
"Excuse me, but I don't understand how that can be; at least, until the police have made inquiries. I should say that the proper owner was the person from whom you purchased the box, or, more probably, the person from whom he purchased it, and by whom, doubtless, it was sold in ignorance, or by mistake. Thus, Pugh, if you will only send for the police, we shall earn the gratitude of a person of whom we never heard in our lives—I for discovering the contents of the box, and you for returning them."
As I said this, Pugh's face was a study. He gasped for breath. He actually took out his handkerchief to wipe his brow.
"Tress, I—I don't think you need to use a tone like that to me. It isn't friendly. What—what was in the box?"
"Let us understand each other, Pugh. If you don't hand over what was in the box to the police, I go halves."
Pugh began to dance about the floor.
"What a fool I was to trust you with the box! I knew I couldn't trust you." I said nothing. I turned and rang the bell. "What's that for?"