"There's me rooms," said Croucher, eagerly. "There's nuffink worth fetching, but I shouldn't like to bilk the people, 'speshly w'en 'er lidyship's gawn an' give me the money, Gawd bless 'er!"
Dollar precipitated the creature's exit, on the verge of fresh saurian tears, of which there were further signs for his benefit on the mat. He might be a bad man, too, might Mr. Croucher, but he wasn't as bad as Mostyn Scarth. And in that modest claim, at least, there was a bitter sincerity which received its due in a nod of keen acknowledgment.
"I never did think you were more than a second murderer, Croucher!"
"Wot's that?"
The whites of those quick, furtive eyes were showing quite horribly in a moment.
"Only a technical expression, Croucher, meaning the minor malefactor."
And he returned rather slowly into the eager presence of Lady Vera Moyle.
"I suppose I mustn't fawn, either," she said, in the softened tone of one of her rare rebukes. "But—do you think you can make anything of him—this time?"
"I hope so; but I shall be very glad to have him back, even if I fail again."
"Why?"