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Whether such a pleasant function ever fell to a Satrap's lot she was not quite certain, but the simile faithfully conveyed her meaning to a large circle of acquaintances. "Don't let's bother about the 3.12," said Mrs. Greyes; "let's go and talk this over at Laura Lipping's. It's her day."
Greyes declared afterwards that she found herself sub-consciously repeating "The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold" under her breath, and she was generally believed. The newcomer, too, was stopped before he reached the counter, but not by Mr. Scarrick or his assistant.
"My servant will fetch the coffee as usual," said the purchaser, producing a coin from a wonderful metal-work purse. As an apparent afterthought he fired out the question: "Have you, perhaps, any quail seed?" "No," said the grocer, without hesitation, "we don't stock it." "What will he deny next?" asked Mrs. Greyes under her breath. What made it seem so much worse was the fact that Mr.
"We might be living in the Arabian Nights," said Miss Fritten, excitedly. "Hush! Listen," beseeched Mrs. Greyes. "Has the dark-faced boy, of whom I spoke yesterday, been here to-day?" asked the stranger. "We've had rather more people than usual in the shop to-day," said Mr. Scarrick, "but I can't recall a boy such as you describe." Mrs.
"I shall never again be able to believe what he tells me about the absence of colouring matter in the jam," whispered an aunt of Mrs. Greyes tragically. The mysterious stranger took his departure; Laura Lipping distinctly saw a snarl of baffled rage reveal itself behind his heavy moustache and upturned astrachan collar.
In a voice that was heard all over the shop, perhaps because everybody was intently listening, he asked for a pound of honey and a packet of quail seed. "More quail seed!" said Miss Fritten. "Those quails must be voracious, or else it isn't quail seed at all." "I believe it's opium, and the bearded man is a detective," said Mrs. Greyes brilliantly.
"The wine and figs were not paid for yesterday," he said; "keep what is over of the money for our future purchases." "A very strange-looking boy?" said Mrs. Greyes interrogatively to the grocer as soon as his customer had left. "A foreigner, I believe," said Mr. Scarrick, with a shortness that was entirely out of keeping with his usually communicative manner.
Greyes and Miss Fritten had missed the 2.18 to Town, and as there was not another train till 3.12 they thought that they might as well make their grocery purchases at Scarrick's. It would not be sensational, they agreed, but it would still be shopping.
Greyes and Miss Fritten looked round triumphantly at their friends. It was, of course, deplorable that any one should treat the truth as an article temporarily and excusably out of stock, but they felt gratified that the vivid accounts they had given of Mr. Scarrick's traffic in falsehoods should receive confirmation at first hand.
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