“For whom?”
“For old Henfrey’s son.”
The Sparrow’s visitor gave vent to a low whistle.
“They intend to get old Henfrey’s money?”
“Yes—and they will if we are not very wary,” declared the little, bristly-haired old gentleman known as The Sparrow. “The boy has been entirely entrapped. They made one faux pas, and it is upon that we may—if we are careful—get the better of them. I don’t like the situation at all. They have a distinctly evil design against the boy.”
“Benton and Molly are a combination pretty hard to beat,” remarked Mr. Howell. “But I thought they were friends of ours.”
“True. They were. But after the little affair in Marseilles I don’t trust them,” replied The Sparrow. “When anyone makes a slip, either by design or sheer carelessness, or perhaps by reason of inordinate avarice, then I always have to safeguard myself. I suspect—and my suspicion usually proves correct.”
His midnight visitor drew a long breath.
“What we all say of you is that The Sparrow is gifted with an extra sense,” he said.
The little old man with the gloved hand smiled contentedly.