"Oh, the milkman," he said, with a miserable affectation at having
misunderstood me. "No, I--I--didn't exactly bring anything home to
the milkman himself, I--"
"What did the milkman say and do?" I said, with inexorable
sternness.
"Well, to tell the truth," said Rupert, shifting restlessly from
one foot to another, "the milkman himself, as far as merely
physical appearances went, just said, `Milk, Miss,' and handed in
the can. That is not to say, of course, that he did not make some
secret sign or some--"
I broke into a violent laugh. "You idiot," I said, "why don't you
own yourself wrong and have done with it? Why should he have made
a secret sign any more than any one else? You own he said nothing
and did nothing worth mentioning. You own that, don't you?"
His face grew grave.
"Well, since you ask me, I must admit that I do. It is possible
that the milkman did not betray himself. It is even possible that
I was wrong about him."
"Then come along with you," I said, with a certain amicable anger,
"and remember that you owe me half a crown."
"As to that, I differ from you," said Rupert coolly. "The
milkman's remarks may have been quite innocent. Even the milkman
may have been. But I do not owe you half a crown. For the terms of
the bet were, I think, as follows, as I propounded them, that
wherever that milkman came to a real stop I should find out
something curious.
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