“Well?” said Mr. Troy.  “Have you formed your opinion?”

“Yes; I’ve formed my opinion.”

“What is it?”

Instead of replying, Old Sharon winked confidentially at Mr. Troy, and put a question on his side.

“I say! is a ten-pound note much of an object to you?”

“It depends on what the money is wanted for,” answered Mr. Troy.

“Look here,” said Old Sharon; “I give you an opinion for your guinea; but, mind this, it’s an opinion founded on hearsay—­and you know as a lawyer what that is worth.  Venture your ten pounds—­in plain English, pay me for my time and trouble in a baffling and difficult case—­and I’ll give you an opinion founded on my own experience.”

“Explain yourself a little more clearly,” said Mr. Troy.  “What do you guarantee to tell us if we venture the ten pounds?”

“I guarantee to name the person, or the persons, on whom the suspicion really rests.  And if you employ me after that, I guarantee (before you pay me a halfpenny more) to prove that I am right by laying my hand on the thief.”

“Let us have the guinea opinion first,” said Mr. Troy.

Old Sharon made another frightful exhibition of the whole inside of his mouth; his laugh was louder and fiercer than ever.  “I like you!” he said to Mr. Troy, “you are so devilish fond of your money.  Lord! how rich you must be!  Now listen.  Here’s the guinea opinion:  Suspect, in this case, the very last person on whom suspicion could possibly fall.”

Moody, listening attentively, started, and changed color at those last words.  Mr. Troy looked thoroughly disappointed and made no attempt to conceal it.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“All?” retorted the cynical vagabond.  “You’re a pretty lawyer!  What more can I say, when I don’t know for certain whether the witness who has given me my information has misled me or not?  Have I spoken to the girl and formed my own opinion?  No!  Have I been introduced among the servants (as errand-boy, or to clean the boots and shoes, or what not), and have I formed my own judgement of them? No!  I take your opinions for granted, and I tell you how I should set to work myself if they were my opinions too—­and that’s a guinea’s-worth, a devilish good guinea’s-worth to a rich man like you!”

Old Sharon’s logic produced a certain effect on Mr. Troy, in spite of himself.  It was smartly put from his point of view—­there was no denying that.

“Even if I consented to your proposal,” he said, “I should object to your annoying the young lady with impertinent questions, or to your being introduced as a spy into a respectable house.”

Old Sharon doubled his dirty fists and drummed with them on the rickety table in a comical frenzy of impatience while Mr. Troy was speaking.