Mr. Hoopdriver's dramatic instincts were now
fully awake. He did not quite understand in what role he was
cast, but it was evidently something dark and mysterious. Doctor
Conan Doyle, Victor Hugo, and Alexander Dumas were well within
Mr. Hoopdriver's range of reading, and he had not read them for
nothing.
"I will be perfectly frank with you," said the other man in
brown.
"Frankness is always the best course," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Well, then--who the devil set you on this business?"
"Set me ON this business?"
"Don't pretend to be stupid. Who's your employer? Who engaged you
for this job?"
"Well," said Mr. Hoopdriver, confused. "No--I can't say."
"Quite sure?" The other man in brown glanced meaningly down at
his hand, and Mr. Hoopdriver, following him mechanically, saw a
yellow milled edge glittering in the twilight. Now your shop
assistant is just above the tip-receiving class, and only just
above it--so that he is acutely sensitive on the point.
Mr. Hoopdriver flushed hotly, and his eyes were angry as he met
those of the other man in brown. "Stow it!" said Mr. Hoopdriver,
stopping and facing the tempter.
"What!" said the other man in brown, surprised. "Eigh?" And so
saying he stowed it in his breeches pocket.
"D'yer think I'm to be bribed?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, whose
imagination was rapidly expanding the situation. "By Gosh! I'd
follow you now--"
"My dear sir," said the other man in brown, "I beg your pardon. I
misunderstood you.
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