“You must have mistaken me,” said Frank, after a quick look. “The sum I mentioned was a hundred and fifty.”
“Oh!” He coloured again, and a curious look came over his face. “That’s a very different pair of shoes.”
“Well?”
Frank observed the struggle in the man’s mind, and it interested him to see some glimmering of shame. James hesitated, and then forced himself to speak; but it was not with his usual self-assurance—it was almost in a whisper.
“Look ’ere, make it two ’undred and I’ll say done.”
“No,” answered Frank firmly. “You can take one fifty or go to the devil.”
James made no reply, but seeing that he agreed, Frank took a cheque from his pocket, wrote it out at the desk, and handed it.
“I’ll give you fifty now, and the rest after the inquest.”
James nodded, but did not answer. He was curiously humbled. He looked at the door, and then glanced at Frank, who understood.
“There’s nothing you need stay for. If you’re wanted for anything, I’ll let you know.”