"I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir, but that you can't, because Rapkin, not wishful to have the place lumbered up with rubbish, disposed of it on'y last night to a gentleman as keeps a rag and bone emporium off the Bridge Road, and 'alf-a-crown was the most he'd give for it, sir." "Give me his name," said Horace. "Dilger, sir--Emanuel Dilger. When Rapkin comes in I'm sure he'd go round with pleasure, and see about it, if required." "I'll go round myself," said Horace. "It's all right, Mrs. Rapkin, quite a natural mistake on your part, but--but I happen to want the bottle again. You needn't stay." "O thou smooth-faced and double-tongued one!" said the Jinnee, after she had gone, as he reappeared to view. "Did I not foresee that thou wouldst deal crookedly? Restore unto me my bottle!" "I'll go and get it at once," said Horace; "I shan't be five minutes." And he prepared to go. "Thou shalt not leave this house," cried Fakrash, "for I perceive plainly that this is but a device of thine to escape and betray me to the Press Devil!" "If you can't see," said Horace, angrily, "that I'm quite as anxious to see you safely back in that confounded bottle as ever you can be to get there, you must be pretty dense! _Can't_ you understand? The bottle's sold, and I can't buy it back without going out. Don't be so infernally unreasonable!" "Go, then," said the Jinnee, "and I will await thy return here. But know this: that if thou delayest long or returnest without my bottle, I shall know that thou art a traitor, and will visit thee and those who are dear to thee with the most unpleasant punishments!" "I'll be back in half an hour, at most," said Horace, feeling that this would allow him ample margin, and thankful that it did not occur to Fakrash to go in person. He put on his hat, and hurried off in the gathering dusk. He had some little trouble in finding Mr. Dilger's establishment, which was a dirty, dusty little place in a back street, with a few deplorable old chairs, rickety washstands, and rusty fenders outside, and the interior almost completely blocked by piles of dingy mattresses, empty clock-cases, tarnished and cracked mirrors, broken lamps, damaged picture-frames, and everything else which one would imagine could have no possible value for any human being. But in all this collection of worthless curios the brass bottle was nowhere to be seen. Ventimore went in and found a youth of about thirteen straining his eyes in the fading light over one of those halfpenny humorous journals which, thanks to an improved system of education, at least eighty per cent. of our juvenile population are now enabled to appreciate. "I want to see Mr. Dilger," he began. "You can't," said the youth. "'Cause he ain't in. He's attending of an auction." "When _will_ he be in, do you know?" "Might be back to his tea--but I wasn't to expect him not before supper." "You don't happen to have any old metal bottles--copper or--or brass would do--for sale?"