“Who the devil is he?” cried Potts. “D—n that porter! I told him to let no one in to-day.”
“I believe the porter’s playing fast and loose with us. But, by Jove! do you see that fellow’s eyes? Do you know who else has such eyes?”
“No.”
“Old Smithers.”
“Smithers!”
“Yes.”
“Then this is young Smithers?”
“Yes; or else the devil,” said John, harshly. “I begin to have an idea,” he continued. “I’ve been thinking about this for some time.”
“What is it?”
“Old Smithers had these eyes. That last chap that drew the forty thousand out of you kept his eyes covered. Here comes this fellow with the same eyes. I begin to trace a connection between them.”