''Rag,'' he might say, shaking his head, fingering a piece of paper money. ''Very hard to push along.'' Or, ''Candlesticks. I had a dozen top-quality candlesticks come just last week, from a crib at Whitehall. Couldn''t do nothing with them. Couldn''t give them away''
He wo-uld stand, making a show of reckoning up a price, but looking like he hardly dare name it to the man for fear of insulting him. Then he''d make his offer, and the thief would look disgusted.
''Mr Ibbs,'' he would say, ''that won''t pay me for the trouble of walking from London Bridge. Be fair, now.''
But by then Mr Ibbs would have gone to his box and be counting out shillings on the table: one, two, three— He might pause, with the fourth in his hand. The thief would see the shine of the silver—Mr Ibbs always kept his coins rubbed very bright, for just tha