Being now a free man again, Moody was able to follow his own inclinations in regard to the instructions which he had received from Old Sharon.

The course that had been recommended to him was repellent to the self-respect and the sense of delicacy which were among the inbred virtues of Moody’s character.  He shrank from forcing himself as a friend on Hardyman’s valet:  he recoiled from the idea of tempting the man to steal a specimen of his master’s handwriting.  After some consideration, he decided on applying to the agent who collected the rents at Hardyman’s London chambers.  Being an old acquaintance of Moody’s, this person would certainly not hesitate to communicate the address of Hardyman’s bankers, if he knew it.  The experiment, tried under these favoring circumstances, proved perfectly successful.  Moody proceeded to Sharon’s lodgings the same day, with the address of the bankers in his pocketbook.  The old vagabond, greatly amused by Moody’s scruples, saw plainly enough that, so long as he wrote the supposed letter from Hardyman in the third person, it mattered little what handwriting was employed, seeing that no signature would be necessary.  The letter was at once composed, on the model which Sharon had already suggested to Moody, and a respectable messenger (so far as outward appearances went) was employed to take it to the bank.  In half an hour the answer came back.  It added one more to the difficulties which beset the inquiry after the lost money.  No such sum as five hundred pounds had been paid, within the dates mentioned, to the credit of Hardyman’s account.

Old Sharon was not in the least discomposed by this fresh check.  “Give my love to the dear young lady,” he said with his customary impudence; “and tell her we are one degree nearer to finding the thief.”

Moody looked at him, doubting whether he was in jest or in earnest.

“Must I squeeze a little more information into that thick head of yours?” asked Sharon.  With this question he produced a weekly newspaper, and pointed to a paragraph which reported, among the items of sporting news, Hardyman’s recent visit to a sale of horses at a town in the north of France.  “We know he didn’t pay the bank-note in to his account,” Sharon remarked.  “What else did he do with it?  Took it to pay for the horses that he bought in France!  Do you see your way a little plainer now?  Very good.  Let’s try next if your money holds out.  Somebody must cross the Channel in search of the note.  Which of us two is to sit in the steam-boat with a white basin on his lap?  Old Sharon, of course!” He stopped to count the money still left, out of the sum deposited by Moody to defray the cost of the inquiry.  “All right!” he went on.  “I’ve got enough to pay my expenses there and back.  Don’t stir out of London till you hear from me.  I can’t tell how soon I may not want you.  If there’s any difficulty in tracing the note, your hand will have to go into your pocket again.  Can’t you get the lawyer to join you?  Lord! how I should enjoy squandering his money!  It’s a downright disgrace to me to have only got one guinea out of him.  I could tear my flesh off my bones when I think of it.”