“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’s handwriting.”

Moody drew back, as suddenly as if his vagabond companion had put a knife to his throat.  “You old villain!” he said.  “Are you tempting me to forgery?”

“You infernal fool!” retorted Old Sharon. “Will you hold that long tongue of yours, and hear what I have to say.  You go to Hardyman’s bankers, 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 has been made within the last week to his account.  He will be much obliged if Messrs. So-and-So will inform him by a line in reply, whether there is such an entry to his credit in their books, and by whom the payment has 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 appear in 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, and knew 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 comes to nothing.  I know what to do next, in that case—­and, what’s more, I’ll take all the risk and trouble on my own shoulders.  Oh, Lord!  I’m afraid I shall be obliged to drink the milk, now it’s come!”

With this apprehension in his mind, he advanced to relieve Isabel of the jug that she carried.

“Here’s a treat!” he burst out, with an affectation of joy, which was completely belied by the expression of his dirty face.  “Here’s a kind and dear young lady, to help an old man to a drink with her own pretty hands.”  He paused, and looked at the milk very much as he might have looked 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 to genuine milk; I’m used to chalk and water.  I don’t know what effect the unadulterated cow might have on my poor old inside.”  He tasted the milk with the greatest caution.  “Upon my soul, this is too rich for me!  The unadulterated cow is a deal too strong to be drunk alone.  If you’ll allow me I’ll qualify it with a drop of gin.  Here, Puggy, Puggy!” He set 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 his lips with an air of infinite relief.  “So sorry, Miss, to have given you all 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,”