Peg opened the door partially, and regarded the young man suspiciously.
“I don't know you,” she said, shortly. “I never saw you before.”
“I presume not,” said the young man. “We have never met, I think. I am an artist.”
“That is a business I don't know anything about,” said Peg, abruptly. “You've come to the wrong place. I don't want to buy any pictures. I've got plenty of other ways to spend my money.”
Certainly, Mrs. Hardwick, to give her the name she once claimed, did not look like a patron of the arts.
“You have a young girl, about eight or nine years old, living with you,” said the artist.
“Who told you that?” queried Peg, her suspicions at once roused.
“No one told me. I saw her with you in the street.”
Peg at once conceived the idea that her visitor was aware of the fact that that the child was stolen—possibly he might be acquainted with the Crumps, or might be their emissary. She therefore answered, shortly,—
“People that are seen walking together don't always live together.”