"A hack-driver. He says you employed him one rainy night, a long time ago, and ordered him to come again when he had news to bring?"
"What, a tall, awkward fellow, with a stoop in the shoulders—tremendous feet and hands?"
"That's the man, sir."
"Send him up, I did tell him to call."
A few minutes, and Jacob Strong stood in Leicester's chamber, self-possessed even in his exaggerated awkwardness, and with a look of shrewd intelligence which recommended itself to Leicester at once. In their previous acquaintance, the man of the world had seen this applied solely to self-interest in the supposed hackman, and he hoped to make this rude, sharp intellect useful to himself.
It would have been a strange contrast to one acquainted with them both—the deep, wily, elegant man of the world—the honest, firm, shrewd man of the people. These two were pitted together in the game of life; and though one was unconscious, looking upon his antagonist as an instrument—nothing more—and though the other was often compelled to grapple hard with his passions, that they might lead him to no false move—the game was a trial of skill worth studying.
"You told me to find out who the lady was, and where she lived, sir. It took time, for these great people are always moving about, but I have done it."
"I was sure that you were to be depended on, my good fellow; there is your money. Now tell me all about her. Who is she? Where does she live, and when have you seen her?"
Jacob took the offered piece of gold, turned it over in his palm, as if estimating its value, and then laid it on the table, before Leicester.