as they reached the door. "I know a man in a cottage here, I 'll send him."
Mr. Postlethwaite was agreeable. Mr. Kirby called at the cottage and sent the man up. Then he came back to the cab.
"I 'll try and get to hear from McAuley to-day," went on the lawyer, as they got into the taxi again and returned to Ormeston. "By the way, what would you take for Greystones, Postlethwaite?"
He knew what was coming. Mr. Postlethwaite's face grew dark and determined. Then there passed over it a not very sane leer. He nudged the lawyer in the ribs—
"Twenty-five thousand," he said, "not a penny less."
"Make it pence," said Mr. Kirby, with more than usual gravity.
Old Mr. Postlethwaite disdained to reply.
"Town 's growing out that side," he said in a tone of immense cunning. "Not a penny less."
"Well," said Mr. Kirby in a weary tone, "if you won't set fire to it, I don't know how you 're going to realise, and upon my soul I don't care."
The taxi had drawn up at the door of Mr. Kirby's club. He resolutely refused to pursue
