CHAPTER XIV.
THE instant Isabel was out of hearing, Old Sharon slapped Moody on theshoulder to rouse his attention. "I've got her out of the way," he said,"now listen to me. My business with the young angel is done--I may goback to London."
Moody looked at him with astonishment.
"Lord! how little you know of thieves!" exclaimed Old Sharon. "Why, manalive, I have tried her with two plain tests! If you wanted a proof ofher innocence, there it was, as plain as the nose in your face. Did youhear me ask her how she came to seal the letter--just when her mind wasrunning on something else?"
"I heard you," said Moody.
"Did you see how she started and stared at me?"
"I did."
"Well, I can tell you this--if she _had_ stolen the money she wouldneither have started nor stared. She would have had her answer readybeforehand in her own mind, in case of accidents. There's only onething in my experience that you can never do with a thief, when a thiefhappens to be a woman--you can never take her by surprise. Put thatremark by in your mind; one day you may find a use for remembering it.Did you see her blush, and look quite hurt in her feelings, pretty dear,when I asked about her sweetheart? Do you think a thief, in her place,would have shown such a face as that? Not she! The thief would have beenrelieved. The thief would have said to herself, 'All right! the morethe old fool talks about sweethearts the further he is from tracing therobbery to Me!' Yes! yes! the ground's cleared now, Master Moody. I'vereckoned up the servants; I've questioned Miss Isabel; I've made myinquiries in all the other quarters that may be useful to us--and what'sthe result? The advice I gave, when you and the lawyer first came tome--I hate that fellow!--remains as sound and good advice as ever. Ihave got the thief in my mind," said Old Sharon, closing his cunningeyes and then opening them again, "as plain as I've got you in my eye atthis minute. No more of that now," he went on, looking round sharply atthe path that led to the farmhouse. "I've something particular to say toyou--and there's barely time to say it before that nice girl comes back.Look here! Do you happen to be acquainted with Mr.-Honorable-Hardyman'svalet?"
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 sardonictriumph.
"Oho!" he said. "Has my good boy learned his lesson? Do you see thethief through my spectacles, already?"
"I began to see him," Moody answered, "when you gave us the guineaopinion at your lodgings."
"Will you whisper his name?" asked Old Sharon.
"Not yet. I distrust my own judgment. I wait till time proves that youare right."
Old Sharon knitted his shaggy brows and shook his head. "If you hadonly a little more dash and go in you," he said, "you would be a cleverfellow. As it is--!" He finished the sentence by snapping his fingerswith a grin of contempt. "Let's get to business. Are you going back bythe next train along with me? or are you going to stop with the younglady?"
"I will follow you by a later train," Moody answered.
"Then I must give you my instructions at once," Sharon continued. "Youget better acquainted with Hardyman's valet. Lend him money if he wantsit--stick at nothing to make a bosom friend of him. I can't do that partof it; my appearance would be against me. _You_ are the man--you arerespectable from the top of your hat to the tips of your boots; nobodywould suspect You. Don't make objections! Can you fix the valet? Orcan't you?"
"I can try," said Moody. "And what then?"
Old Sharon put his gross lips disagreeably close to Moody's ear.
"Your friend the valet can tell you who his master's bankers are,"he said; "and he can supply you with a specimen of his master'shandwriting."
Moody drew back, as suddenly as if his vagabond companion had put aknife to his throat. "You old villain!" he said. "Are you tempting me toforgery?"
"You infernal fool!" retorted Old Sharon. "_Will_ you hold that longtongue of yours, and hear what I have to say. You go to Hardyman'sbankers, with a note in Hardyman's handwriting (exactly imitated by me)to this effect:--'Mr. H. presents his compliments to Messrs. So-and-So,and is not quite certain whether a payment of five hundred pounds hasbeen made within the last week to his account. He will be much obligedif Messrs. So-and-So will inform him by a line in reply, whether thereis such an entry to his credit in their books, and by whom the paymenthas been made.' You wait for the bankers' answer, and bring it to me.It's just possible that the name you're afraid to whisper may appearin the letter. If it does, we've caught our man. Is _that_ forgery, Mr.Muddlehead Moody? I'll tell you what--if I had lived to be your age, andknew no more of the world than you do, I'd go and hang myself. Steady!here's our charming friend with the milk. Remember your instructions,and don't lose heart if my notion of the payment to the bankers comesto nothing. I know what to do next, in that case--and, what's more, I'lltake all the risk and trouble on my own shoulders. Oh, Lord! I'm afraidI shall be obliged to drink the milk, now it's come!"
With this apprehension in his mind, he advanced to relieve Isabel of thejug that she carried.
"Here's a treat!" he burst out, with an affectation of joy, which wascompletely belied by the expression of his dirty face. "Here's a kindand dear young lady, to help an old man to a drink with her own prettyhands." He paused, and looked at the milk very much as he might havelooked at a dose of physic. "Will anyone take a drink first?" he asked,offering the jug piteously to Isabel and Moody. "You see, I'm not wed togenuine milk; I'm used to chalk and water. I don't know what effect theunadulterated cow might have on my poor old inside." He tasted the milkwith the greatest caution. "Upon my soul, this is too rich for me! Theunadulterated cow is a deal too strong to be drunk alone. If you'llallow me I'll qualify it with a drop of gin. Here, Puggy, Puggy!" Heset the milk down before the dog; and, taking a flask out of his pocket,emptied it at a draught. "That's something like!" he said, smacking hislips with an air of infinite relief. "So sorry, Miss, to have given youall your trouble for nothing; it's my ignorance that's to blame, not me.I couldn't know I was unworthy of genuine milk till I tried--could I?And do you know," he proceeded, with his eyes directed slyly on the wayback to the station, "I begin to think I'm not worthy of the fresh air,either. A kind of longing seems to come over me for the London stink.I'm home-sick already for the soot of my happy childhood and my own dearnative mud. The air here is too thin for me, and the sky's too clean;and--oh, Lord!--when you're wed to the roar of the traffic--the 'bussesand the cabs and what not--the silence in these parts is downrightawful. I'll wish you good evening, miss; and get back to London."
Isabel turned to Moody with disappointment plainly expressed in her faceand manner.
"Is that all he has to say?" she asked. "You told me he could help us.You led me to suppose he could find the guilty person."
Sharon heard her. "I could name the guilty person," he answered, "aseasily, miss, as I could name you."
"Why don't you do it then?" Isabel inquired, not very patiently
"Because the time's not ripe for it yet, miss--that's one reason.Because, if I mentioned the thief's name, as things are now, you, MissIsabel, would think me mad; and you would tell Mr. Moody I had cheatedhim out of his money--that's another reason. The matter's in train, ifyou will only wait a little longer."
"So you say," Isabel rejoined. "If you really could name the thief, Ibelieve you would do it now."
She turned away with a frown on her pretty face. Old Sharon followedher. Even his coarse sensibilities appeared to feel the irresistibleascendancy of beauty and youth.
"I say!" he began, "we must part friends, you know--or I shall break myheart over it. They have got milk at the farmhouse. Do you think theyhave got pen, ink, and paper too?"
Isabel answered, without turning to look at him, "Of course they have!"
"And a bit of sealing-wax?"
"I daresay!"
Old Sharon laid his dirty claws
on her shoulder and forced her to facehim as the best means of shaking them off.
"Come along!" he said. "I am going to pacify you with some informationin writing."
"Why should you write it?" Isabel asked suspiciously.
"Because I mean to make my own conditions, my dear, before I let youinto the secret."
In ten minutes more they were all three in the farmhouse parlor. Nobodybut the farmer's wife was at home. The good woman trembled from head tofoot at the sight of Old Sharon. In all her harmless life she had neveryet seen humanity under the aspect in which it was now presented to her."Mercy preserve us, Miss!" she whispered to Isabel, "how come you tobe in such company as _that?_" Instructed by Isabel, she produced thenecessary materials for writing and sealing--and, that done, she shrankaway to the door. "Please to excuse me, miss," she said with a lasthorrified look at her venerable visitor; "I really can't stand the sightof such a blot of dirt as that in my nice clean parlor." With thosewords she disappeared, and was seen no more.
Perfectly indifferent to his reception, Old Sharon wrote, inclosed whathe had written in an envelope; and sealed it (in the absence of anythingbetter fitted for his purpose) with the mouthpiece of his pipe.
"Now, miss," he said, "you give me your word of honor,"--he stopped andlooked round at Moody with a grin--"and you give me yours, that youwon't either of you break the seal on this envelope till the expirationof one week from the present day. There are the conditions, Miss Isabel,on which I'll give you your information. If you stop to dispute with me,the candle's alight, and I'll burn it!"
It was useless to contend with him. Isabel and Moody gave him thepromise that he required. He handed the sealed envelope to Isabel witha low bow. "When the week's out," he said, "you will own I'm a clevererfellow than you think me now. Wish you good evening, Miss. Come along,Puggy! Farewell to the horrid clean country, and back again to the niceLondon stink!"
He nodded to Moody--he leered at Isabel--he chuckled to himself--he leftthe farmhouse.
My Lady's Money Page 14
