Presently he became aware of an elderly man trying to pass him. He stepped aside with apologies, and followed the customer.
“Are you serving here?” asked the latter, with some diffidence.
On Joyce’s affirmative, he enquired after two editions of “Berquin,” which he had seen in Runcle’s catalogue. Joyce took one from the shelves,—the original edition. It was priced two guineas. The customer haggled, then wished to see the other. As this was on the top shelf at the back part of the shop, Joyce had to mount the ladder and hunt for it in the dusky light. While thus employed, he felt something sweep against the foot of the ladder, and, looking down, he saw Yvonne. She shot a quick upward glance, and hurriedly disappeared.
His heart gave a great bound as he saw her, and he dropped the books he was holding. He could not seek any more for the “Berquin.” In another moment he was by the side of the customer.
“We must have sold the other copy. How much will you give for this?”
“Thirty-five shillings.”
“You can have it,” said Joyce.
Never was book tied up at greater speed. He thrust it into the man’s hand, received the money without looking at it, and left the elderly man standing in the middle of the shop, greatly astonished at the haste of the transaction.
Joyce flew up the stairs into the sitting-room.
“Oh, where—” he began.