“Yes, in a way, though I did not quite fancy them,” said Mrs. Darling. “As for Nancy—well, she may speak for herself. It was partly her impression of them that led me to take her advice and appeal to you.”
“On the dead, Mr. Carter, I would not trust either of them as far as I could throw a bull by the tail,” Nancy bluntly declared, in characteristic terms. “You know me, sir. I am not easily fooled. I can read a man dead right nine times out of ten, Mr. Carter, the minute I set my eyes on him.”
“You did not fancy them, then?”
“Not so you’d notice it,” said Nancy. “I wouldn’t say too much against the Sheldon man, Mr. Carter, for I’ve seen him only twice. I saw him at the funeral, and I let him in with Mr. Floyd a few days before. He’s all right, mebbe, though I’d hate to bank much on it.”
“What about Mr. Floyd? Why do you distrust him so seriously?”
“I have more than one reason for that hunch,” said Nancy inelegantly. “For a starter, Mr. Carter, I’ve seen that guy before.”
“Floyd?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When and where, Nancy?”
“Give it up. On the dead, sir, I can’t tell.”