"Sit down, Scotty, my boy; sit down," said Lester dispassionately. “It's heart-breaking, but it's got to be. It was clear treasure trove. We can't afford to make a fuss about it."
Scott took up a pen with admirable restraint.
"Then we'll regard it as a bad debt," was all he said. "What crumbs are there?"
"The Beornwulf, say twelve guineas; a hundred ounces of silver, eleven more; the six coins he sent you, thirty-five"
"Stop a minute. What are those?"
Mr. Lester gripped the arms of his chair in a new frenzy.
"Sent on Wednesday night. D'ye mean to say you haven't had them?"
"Had nothing of the sort," said his partner.
"Under my very nose," groaned Mr. Lester, with a flash of intuition. "I see it all. Took out my letter and then coolly addressed the genuine bait to himself, to put it out of my way, right before my silly eyes! Scott, Scott, it's the finest finishing touch. I forgive them everything!"
Hampton Hill, 1907.
