“Two!” Mr. Absolom offered.  “More than it’th worth, perhaps, but I’ll rithk it.”

“It is certainly more than it’s worth,” Mr. Waddington admitted, dolefully.  “However, if you have the money to throw away—­two pounds, then.”

Mr. Waddington raised his hammer to knock the chest down, but was met with a storm from all quarters of the room.

“Two-ten!”

“Three!”

“Three-ten!”

“Four!”

“Four-ten!”

“Five!”

“Six pounds!”

“Seven!”

“Seven-ten!”

“Ten pounds!”

Mr. Absolom, who so far had held his own, hesitated at the last bid.  A gray-haired old gentleman looked around him fiercely.  The gentleman was seemingly opulent and Mr. Absolom withdrew with a sigh.  Mr. Waddington eyed the prospective buyer sorrowfully.

“You are quite sure that you mean it, sir?” he asked.  “The chest is not worth the money, you know.”

“You attend to your business and I’ll attend to mine!” the old gentleman answered, savagely.  “Most improper behavior, I call it, trying to buy in your own goods in this bare-faced manner.  My name is Stephen Hammonde, and the money’s in my pocket for this or anything else I care to buy.”

Mr. Waddington raised his hammer and struck the desk in front of him.  As his clerk entered the sale, the auctioneer looked up and caught Burton’s eye.  He beckoned to him eagerly.  Burton came up to the rostrum.

“Burton,” Mr. Waddington exclaimed, “I want to talk to you!  You see what’s happened to me?” he went on, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.

“Yes, I see!

“It’s that d—­d bean!” Mr. Waddington declared.  “But look here, Burton, can you tell me what’s happened to the other people?”

“I cannot,” Burton confessed.  “I am beginning to get an idea, perhaps.”

“Stand by for a bit and watch,” Mr. Waddington begged.  “I must go on with the sale now.  Take a little lunch with me afterwards.  Don’t desert me, Burton.  We’re in this together.”

Burton nodded and found a seat at a little distance from the rostrum.  From here he watched the remainder of the morning’s sale.  The whole affair seemed to resolve itself into a repetition of the sale of the chest.  The auctioneer’s attempts to describe correctly the wares he offered were met with mingled suspicion and disbelief.  The one or two articles which really had the appearance of being genuine, and over which he hesitated, fetched enormous prices, and all the time his eager clients eyed him suspiciously.  No one trusted him, and yet it was obvious that if he had advertised a sale every day, the room would have been packed.  Burton watched the proceedings with the utmost interest.  Once or twice people who recognized him came up and asked him questions, to which, however, he was able to return no satisfactory reply.  At one o’clock precisely, the auctioneer, with a little sigh of relief, announced a postponement.  Even after he had left the rostrum, the people seemed unwilling to leave the place.