"Ah, but do you know anything of him in the way I mean?"
"Well," hesitated Mr. Giles, "perhaps I may have my suspicions."
"Exactly; and perhaps I have mine. He's got too much business; too many wires a-pulling; when I see one chap with so many concerns all running on I begin to think that it's shaky."
"Exactly," said Mr. Giles. "I don't know anything against Mr. H. M.; he's a great and powerful man, but I dare say I can find out if you set me to it."
"That's just what I want," said Mr. Dockett. "You get at it at once; I'll take him at the West End, you watch him at the city, and directly you find anything that even looks wrong let me know. You needn't spare the money; this is a job that will afford a thou or two."
"I understand," said Mr. Giles, and almost without another word he took his departure.
From that hour there was a bloodhound upon Howard Murpoint's track, a ferret ever worming and prying and nosing into his business. There was always a thin, quiet-looking man mixing with his clerks, getting hold of his private letters, holding open his carriage door, catching his visitors as they entered his office, and dogging him through every hour he spent at office or at chambers.
Mr. Giles was at work, and no bloodhound could be thirstier and more eager, no ferret more restless, and no lynx more watchful.
At home at the West End another bloodhound was watching him there.