"Yes, yes," says Mr. Bucket. "But I could have made the money without this anonymous information."
Having put the letters in his book of fate and girdled it up again, he unlocks the door just in time to admit his dinner, which is brought upon a goodly tray with a decanter of sherry. Mr. Bucket frequently observes, in friendly circles where there is no restraint, that he likes a toothful of your fine old brown East Inder sherry better than anything you can offer him. Consequently he fills and empties his glass with a smack of his lips and is proceeding with his refreshment when an idea enters his mind.

"Yes, yes," says Mr. Bucket. "But I could have made the money without this anonymous information."
Having put the letters in his book, he unlocks the door just in time to admit his dinner, which is brought in with a decanter of sherry. Mr. Bucket fills and empties his glass with a smack of his lips and is proceeding with his refreshment when an idea enters his mind.
