"Your duty was to let that house," Mr. Waddington wound up, striking
the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. "What do I give you
forty-four shillings a week for, I should like to know? To go and blab
trade secrets to every customer that comes along? If you couldn't get
him to sign the lease, you ought to have worked a deposit, at any rate.
He'd have had to forfeit that, even if he'd found out afterwards."

"I am sorry," Burton said, speaking in a much lower tone than was usual
with him, but with a curious amount of confidence. "It would have been
a moral falsehood if I had attempted anything of the sort. I could not
possibly offer the house to Mr. Lynn or anybody else, without
disclosing its drawbacks."

The auctioneer's face had become redder. His eyes seemed on the point
of coming out of his head. He became almost incoherent.

"God bless my soul!" he spluttered. "Have you gone mad, Burton? What's
come to you since the morning? Have you changed into a blithering fool,
or what?"

"I think not, sir," Burton replied, gravely. "I don't--exactly remember
for the moment," he went on with a slight frown. "My head seems a
little confused, but I cannot believe that it has been our custom to
conduct our business in the fashion you are suggesting."

Mr. Waddington walked round the office, holding his head between his
hands.

"I don't suppose either of us has been drinking at this hour in the