"Like!" cried French. "He's like a chap you see in a nightmare—white as tallow and no legs to him, and he's going out now to inspect the horses. Mark you, that chap's no use to us; he's one of the Methodist-parson type, and he's not got the heart in him to help us."
"What is his name?" asked the girl.
"Piper," replied French, pouring himself out some whisky.
"Well," she said, "wait here, both of you; one never knows what one can do till one tries."
She left the room hurriedly, and sought the stableyard, where she found Moriarty.
"Moriarty," she said, "the bailiff has come, and he's just going to look at the horses. Be sure that, whatever you do, you be civil to him."
"Yes, miss," replied Moriarty.
"Tell Andy the same."
"Yes, miss."