"And then?"
"If nothing happens, come back and tell me."
When he stood at the top of the stairs Pringle felt much inclined, instead of turning to the left, to go the other way and cross the bridge, leaving the "Toff" to secure the ingots as best he could. Later on he had cause to regret that he had not done so; but for the moment love of adventure prevailed, and, walking down the gradient from the bridge, he gave the signal. There was no one in sight, but the action was such a natural one on a damp and foggy night that had the street been ever so crowded it would have passed unnoticed. Pringle counted twenty, and repeated the signal. By this time he had reached the corner, and looking down the side street, he distinctly saw the twin lights of a carriage advancing at a trot. He turned back and reached the stairs as a rubber-tyred miniature brougham pulled up beside him.
"Is it there?" whispered the "Toff" impatiently.
"There's a brougham stopping. I don't know———"
"Yes, yes; that's it. Lend a hand, now; we mustn't keep it waiting about."
Marvelling at the style in which the "Toff" appeared to work, Pringle helped to lug the basket up, and between them they bundled it into the carriage.
"Now," said the "Toff," fumbling in his waistcoat pocket, "what do you say about my proposal?"
"Well, really, I should like to think over it a little," replied Pringle evasively.
"Oh, I can't wait here all night while you're making up your mind. If you don't recognise a good thing when you see it, you're not the man for me. It's not everyone I should make the offer to."
"Then I think I had better say 'No.'"
"Please yourself, and sink a little lower than you are." The "Toff" appeared nettled at Pringle’s refusal. He ceased to grope in his waistcoat, and drawing a leather purse from his trouser pocket, took something from it. "That's for your trouble." said he shortly; and the next minute was bowling swiftly over the bridge.
Pringle, who had mechanically extended his hand, found by the glimmer of a lamp that the "Toff" had appraised his services at the sum of seven shillings, and was moved to throw the coins into the river. As he hesitated over the fate of the florin and two half-crowns in his palm, a policeman approached and glanced suspiciously at him. His hand closed on the money, and he passed on to the bridge. He felt hot and grimy with his exertions; also his boots were damp, and the night wind began to grow chilly. Half way across he broke into a run, the elastic structure swaying perceptibly beneath his feet. Over on the other side the lights of a public-house pierced the mist, and he struck into the roadway towards it.
"Outside—on the right!" said a voice, as he opened the door of the saloon bar. For the time he had forgotten the shabbiness of his dress, enhanced as it was by the many things it had suffered in the course of the night's work, and with an unwonted diffidence he sought the public bar. There, with a steaming glass in hand, he strove to dry his boots at a gas-stove in one corner, but he still felt cold and miserable when, about half-past eleven, he rose to go.
"'Ere—what’s this?" The barman had inserted the proffered coin in a trier, and giving it a deft jerk, now flung it, bent nearly double, across the counter.
"I beg your pardon," Pringle apologised, as he produced another. "I had no idea it was bad."
The barman threw the second coin upon the counter. It rang clearly, but doubled in the trier like so much putty.
"Bad!" chorused the onlookers.
"Fetch a constable, Ted!" was the solo of the landlord, who had come round from the other side of the bar.
For the second time that evening Pringle’s nerve took flight. A horrible idea seized him—a crevasse seemed to open at his feet. Had the "Toff" played some treachery upon him? And as the door swung after the potman, he made a break for liberty. But the barman was quick as he, and with a cat-like spring over the counter, he held Pringle before he had got half across the threshold, several customers officiously aiding.
"I'm going to prosecute this man," announced the landlord; adding, for the benefit of the audience generally, "I've taken six bad half-crowns this week."
"Swine! Sarve 'im right! Oughter be shot!" were the virtuous comments on this statement.
As resistance was clearly useless, Pringle submitted to his arrest, and was presently accompanied to the police-station by an escort of most of the loafers in the bar.
