"No, no," said Toby. "We no buy. Want Shiraz. Confound it, that's an easy word, ain't it? Shiraz! Can't you understand that?"
"No sell Shiraz," said the young man. "Clocks and watches."
"Look here," said Toby, "what's the number of this place?"
"No number," said the young man, looking puzzled and shaking his head. "Clocks and watches."
"By crackey," said Toby, "we're in the wrong place sure enough."
Now while this talk was going on, Freddie had made a discovery. He had noticed, on a box at the rear, against the wall, a row of seven old clocks. They were battered and broken, and were evidently long since out of repair; two of them had no hands. Like most of the clocks in the place, they were stopped, and had probably, from the looks of them, ceased many years
before to keep time. He noted idly the time shown by each of these clocks, and started in surprise. The hour shown by the first clock at the left was three o'clock. That shown by the next was one o'clock. The next had no hands, and showed no time at all. The next showed one o'clock, the next three o'clock, the next one o'clock, and the seventh had no hands. He ran his eye over them again, and the numbers which resulted were 3101310.
"Come along," said Toby. "We might as well ask at some of these other shops. There ain't no use wasting time here."
He moved away, and the others followed him towards the adjoining booth. The teeth of the dark young man shone white, and he bowed politely to the departing strangers.
Freddie pulled at Toby's coat, and whispered in his ear. Toby listened, and without a word led the party back to the booth.