CHAPTER XVII
BINDLE MAKES A MISTAKE
I
"BINDLE there?"
"No, sir; 'e's down the yard."
"Tell him I want him."
"Right, sir."
The manager of the West London Furniture Depository, Ltd., returned to his office. A few minutes later Bindle knocked at the door and, removing the blue-and-white cricket cap from his head, entered in response to the manager's, "Come in."
"Wonder wot 'e's found out. Shouldn't be surprised if it was them guns," muttered Bindle prophetically under his breath.
Bindle had been employed by the Depository for six months, and had acquitted himself well. He was a good workman and trustworthy, and had given conclusive proof that he knew his business.
The manager looked up from a letter he held in his hand.
"I've had a very serious letter from Sir Charles Custance of Little Compton," he began.
"No bad news, I 'ope, sir," remarked Bindle cheerfully. "Brooks sort o' shook 'im up a bit,
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