“A LITTLE OLD MAN, SHREWD AND WITHERED.”
“Mr Judex?” said Gilead.
“My name, sir,” said the stranger. “You thought it a pseudonym, no doubt. Now, usher!”
The exclamation was addressed to the boy, who vanished.
“I called in answer to your advertisement,” said Gilead, not unprepared for surprises.
“Be seated,” said the stranger. The bright eyes bent upon him. “You are young, and a gentleman, I take note, Mr Balm,” he said. “A hard-up one—eh?”
“No, not hard-up.”
“What then?”
“A seeker after the truth,” said Gilead. “I pursue it day by day through the columns of the Daily Post. Money is no object to me.”
The little old man bent forward, and eagerly scanned his visitor.