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Huntingtower by John Buchan
page 111 of 288 (38%)
"What'll I call them?" he asked.

"Just the three leather parcels handed to you by Dickson McCunn,
Esq., naming the date."

Mr. Mackintosh wrote. He signed his name with his usual flourish
and handed the slip to his client.

"Now," said Dickson, "you'll put that receipt in the strong box
where you keep my securities and you'll give it up to nobody but
me in person and you'll surrender the parcels only on presentation
of the receipt. D'you understand?"

"Perfectly. May I ask any questions?"

"You'd better not if you don't want to hear lees.'

"What's in the packages?" Mr. Mackintosh weighed them in his hand.

"That's asking," said Dickson. "But I'll tell ye this much. It's jools."

"Your own?"

"No, but I'm their trustee."

"Valuable?"

"I was hearing they were worth more than a million pounds."

"God bless my soul," said the startled manager. "I don't like this
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