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.
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