He took it, gave me the change without comment, and the last
doubt about his connection with coiners flickered from my mind.
At this moment a young man came in, who, I saw at once, was not a
customer. He walked briskly to the farther end of the shop, and
disappeared behind a partition which had one pane of glass in it that
gave an outlook towards the front door.
'Excuse me a moment,' said the shopkeeper, and he followed the young
man into the private office.
As I examined the curious heterogeneous collection of things for sale,
I heard the clink of coins being poured out on the lid of a desk or an
uncovered table, and the murmur of voices floated out to me. I was now
near the entrance of the shop, and by a sleight-of-hand trick, keeping
the corner of my eye on the glass pane of the private office, I
removed the key of the front door without a sound, and took an
impression of it in wax, returning the key to its place unobserved. At
this moment another young man came in, and walked straight past me
into the private office. I heard him say,--
'Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Simpson. How are you, Rogers?'
'Hallo, Macpherson,' saluted Rogers, who then came out, bidding
good-night to Mr. Simpson, and departed whistling down the street, but
not before he had repeated his phrase to another young man entering,
to whom he gave the name of Tyrrel.
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