He passed through the kitchen, crossed the little hall, and knocked at the sitting-room door.
"Come in," said French's voice, and he entered.
French, Miss Grimshaw, and Bobby Dashwood were seated about the room. The men were smoking and in arm-chairs, Miss Grimshaw was at the table, sitting erect, with her elbows upon it. Her lips were pursed, for they had been discussing Mr. Piper.
"If you plaze, sorr," said Moriarty when French bade him speak, "I've been takin' the size of that chap in the yard."
"And what do you think of him, Moriarty?"
"Faith, sorr, I'm thinkin' he was one of the leftovers whin they was makin' parr'ts, and the divil thried to make a monkey of him, and spiled it in the bakin'. He's no use at all, sorr, to be talked over or talked under."
"We couldn't bribe the man, do you think?" asked Mr. French.
"No, sorr," replied Moriarty, "he's not the man to take a bribe to do a decent turn. He's wan of those chaps that hates his betthers—soci—what d'you call 'em, sorr?"
"Socialists?"