Don’t forget the abstract of the case; and don’t trouble yourself to see me to the door.  I dare say I shan’t tumble downstairs; and, if I do, there’s the porter in the hall to pick me up again.  Enviable porter! as fat as butter and as idle as a pig! Au revoir! au revoir!” He kissed his hand, and drifted feebly out of the room.  Sweetsir one might say, in a state of eclipse; but still the serviceable Sweetsir, who was never consulted in vain by the fortunate people privileged to call him friend!

“Is he really ill, do you think?” Mr. Troy asked.

“My nephew has turned fifty,” Lady Lydiard answered, “and he persists in living as if he was a young man.  Every now and then Nature says to him, ‘Felix, you are old!’ And Felix goes to bed, and says it’s his nerves.”

“I suppose he is to be trusted to keep his word about writing to Paris?” pursued the lawyer.

“Oh, yes!  He may delay doing it but he will do it.  In spite of his lackadaisical manner, he has moments of energy that would surprise you.  Talking of surprises, I have something to tell you about Moody.  Within the last day or two there has been a marked change in him—­a change for the worse.”

“You astonish me, Lady Lydiard!  In what way has Moody deteriorated?”

“You shall hear.  Yesterday was Friday.  You took him out with you, on business, early in the morning.”

Mr. Troy bowed, and said nothing.  He had not thought it desirable to mention the interview at which Old Sharon had cheated him of his guinea.

“In the course of the afternoon,” pursued Lady Lydiard, “I happened to want him, and I was informed that Moody had gone out again.  Where had he gone?  Nobody knew.  Had he left word when he would be back?  He had left no message of any sort.  Of course, he is not in the position of an ordinary servant.  I don’t expect him to ask permission to go out.  But I do expect him to leave word downstairs of the time at which he is likely to return.  When he did come back, after an absence of some hours, I naturally asked for an explanation.  Would you believe it? he simply informed me that he had been away on business of his own; expressed no regret, and offered no explanation—­in short, spoke as if he was an independent gentleman.  You may not think it, but I kept my temper.  I merely remarked that I hoped it would not happen again.  He made me a bow, and he said, ’My business is not completed yet, my Lady.  I cannot guarantee that it may not call me away again at a moment’s notice.’  What do you think of that?  Nine people out of ten would have given him warning to leave their service.  I begin to think I am a wonderful woman—­I only pointed to the door.  One does hear sometimes of men’s brains softening in the most unexpected manner.  I have my suspicions of Moody’s brains, I can tell you.”

Mr. Troy’s suspicions took a different direction:  they pointed along the line of streets which led to Old Sharon’s lodgings.  Discreetly silent as to the turn which his thoughts had taken, he merely expressed himself as feeling too much surprised to offer any opinion at all.