Moody’s eyes rested on Old Sharon with a searching and doubtful look.
“Mr. Hardyman’s valet?” he repeated. “I wasn’t prepared to hear Mr. Hardyman’s name.”
Old Sharon looked at Moody, in his turn, with a flash of sardonic triumph.
“Oho!” he said. “Has my good boy learned his lesson? Do you see the thief through my spectacles, already?”
“I began to see him,” Moody answered, “when you gave us the guinea opinion at your lodgings.”
“Will you whisper his name?” asked Old Sharon.
“Not yet. I distrust my own judgment. I wait till time proves that you are right.”
Old Sharon knitted his shaggy brows and shook his head. “If you had only a little more dash and go in you,” he said, “you would be a clever fellow. As it is—!” He finished the sentence by snapping his fingers with a grin of contempt. “Let’s get to business. Are you going back by the next train along with me? or are you going to stop with the young lady?”
“I will follow you by a later train,” Moody answered.
“Then I must give you my instructions at once,” Sharon continued. “You get better acquainted with Hardyman’s valet. Lend him money if he wants it—stick at nothing to make a bosom friend of him. I can’t do that part of it; my appearance would be against me. You are the man—you are respectable from the top of your hat to the tips of your boots; nobody would suspect You. Don’t make objections! Can you fix the valet? Or can’t you?”