e.

Jenkins breathed hard and leaned toward me. Then he seemed to flunk
again and dropped back. Dashed if I didn't think I heard him groan! But
I stared at him through my glass, and he swallowed hard and went on:

"An error, sir, of the shipping clerk. He--"

With a murmured apology, Jenkins paused to wipe his forehead. I saw that
the perspiration had gathered in great drops. Then he seemed to gather
himself for a resolute effort, his eyes fixing themselves upon me with
the most extraordinary expression--kind of half-frightened,
half-desperate glare--that sort of thing, don't you know. I began to
feel devilish uncomfortable and edged away.

And he made another plunge: "They sent him--"

And, dash me if he didn't stick again! It just looked like he couldn't
get past. But I encouraged him--just like you have to do a horse, you
know--and this time he got over:

"They sent him a dozen boxes of 'Hickey's Pride,' sir, instead!"

He spoke in a low, choking voice and looked me full in the eye--the kind
of look you get when a chap's boxing with you, you know--that sort of
thing.

CHAPTER II

AN OMINOUS DISCOVERY

I was puzzled.

"'Hickey's Pride?'" I repeated thoughtfully. "I don't seem to recall
that one. Do I smoke it often?"

Jenkins seemed to gasp.

"You? Certainly _not_, sir! _Never!_"

And, by Jove, he turned pale! Anyhow, he looked devilish queer as he put
his hands down on the table and bent to whisper:

"Mr. Lightnut, sir--" And the way he dropped his voice and turned his
head to peer around into the corners was just creepy! That's what,
creepy! This, with the glow from the green lampshade on his pale face as
he leaned across the table--oh, it was something ghastly--awful, you
know! It got on my nerves, and I could feel the hair slowly rising on
each side of my part. He bent close, whispering behind his hand, and I
knew he had been eating radishes for dinner:

"It's what's known in the trade, sir, as a 'twofer.'"

"A 'twofer!'" I repeated, puzzled.

"Two for five, sir." Jenkins spoke faintly. "I'm sure I'm ashamed to
mention to a perfect gen--"

"By Jove, _I_ know!" I lifted my finger suddenly. "I know now the kind
you mean--big, fat, greasy-looking ones--the sort Vanderdecker and
Colonel Boylston smoke over at the club." I shook my head. "Too jolly
thick and heavy for me. So they're two for a 'V'--eh? Oh, I
_see_--'twofers!' By Jove!"

A brand new one, this--a ripper! I made up my min