rather
ambiguously.

"Your memory is not quite accurate," said Horace. "You bought it last
night from a man of the name of Rapkin, who lets lodgings in Vincent
Square, and you paid exactly half a crown for it."

"If you say so I dare say it's correct, sir," said Mr. Dilger, without
exhibiting the least confusion. "And if I did buy it off Mr. Rapkin,
he's a respectable party, and ain't likely to have come by it
dishonest."

"I never said he did. What will you take for the thing?"

"Well, just look at the work in it. They don't turn out the like o' that
nowadays. Dutch, that is; what they used for to put their milk and
such-like in."

"Damn it!" said Horace, completely losing his temper. "_I_ know what it
was used for. _Will_ you tell me what you want for it?"

"I couldn't let a curiosity like that go a penny under thirty
shillings," said Mr. Dilger, affectionately. "It would be robbin'
myself."

"I'll give you a sovereign for it--there," said Horace. "You know best
what profit that represents. That's my last word."

"_My_ last word to that, sir, is good hevenin'," said the worthy man.

"Good evening, then," said Horace, and walked out of the shop; rather to
bring Mr. Dilger to terms than because he really meant to abandon the
bottle, for he dared not go back without it, and he had nothing about
him just then on which he could raise the extra ten shillings, supposing
the dealer refused to trust him for the balance--and the time was
growing dangerously short.

Fortunately the well-worn ruse succeeded, for Mr. Dilger ran out after
him and laid an unwashed claw upon his coat-sleeve. "Don't go, mister,"
he said; "I like to do business if I can; though, 'pon my word and
honour, a sovereign for a work o' art like that! Well, just for luck and
bein' my birthday, we'll call it a deal."

Horace handed over the coin, which left him with a few pence. "There
ought to be a lid or stopper of some sort," he said suddenly. "What have
you done with that?"

"No, sir, there you're mistook, you are, indeed. I do assure you you
never see a pot of this partickler pattern with a lid to it. Never!"

"Oh, don't you, though?" said Horace. "I know better. Never mind," he
said, as he recollected that the seal was in Fakrash's possession. "I'll
take it as it is. Don't trouble to wrap it up. I'm in rather a hurry."

It was almost dark when he got back to his rooms, where he found the
Jinnee shaking with mingled rage and apprehension.