His fist closed. Mulberry withdrew a horrid paw.
"I thought you said it was mine, mister?"
"It will be, in good time. Have a look at it first."
"Lot o' little silver, ain't it?"
"One or two bits of gold as well."
"It may be more than it looks; better let me count it mister."
"It's been counted. That's the amount; you sign, that, and it's yours."
With his other hand Jan had taken from another pocket an envelope, stamped and inscribed, but not as for the post, and a stylographic pen. The stamp was just under the middle of the envelope; above was written, in Jan's hand and in ink:
Received in final payment for everything supplied in Yardley Wood to end of June—
£2 18s. 6d.
"Sign across the stamp," said Jan briskly. Underneath was the date.
The envelope fluttered in the drunkard's fingers.
"Two p'un' eighteen—look here—this won't do!" he cried less thickly than he had spoken yet. "What the devil d' you take me for? It's close on five golden sovereigns that I'm owed. This is under three."
"It's all you'll get, Mulberry, and it's a darned sight more than you deserve for swindling and blackmailing. If you don't take this you won't get anything, except what you don't reckon on!"
The man understood; but he was almost foaming at the mouth.
"I tell you it's a dozen and a half this summer! Half a dozen bottles and a dozen"
