“With the money?”
“With the money.”
But Patmore was not satisfied, and hurrying after him, plucked at his sleeve. “I have your word?” he asked.
Westerham turned on him fiercely. “No,” he said through his teeth, “certainly not; I would not take the word of a dog like you, and there is no reason why I should give mine. You can take what I say or leave it.”
For a few moments Patmore seemed doubtful. Then he nodded his head.
“All right,” he said sulkily.
Westerham walked briskly away, and made across the street without turning his head. But as he walked he drew from his pocket a little mirror, which he had hidden in his handkerchief, and by straining his eyes considerably he was able to see that Patmore still stood in a hesitating way beneath the monument of Queen Anne.
But as Westerham reached the pavement Patmore moved away, and Westerham ran round the heads of the horses of a waiting omnibus and there stood still, sheltered behind a lamp-post in the centre of the road.
Patmore had reached the pavement opposite the Church House, and had turned up a little court between the two drapers' shops.