He had just returned from consulting Messrs. Heathfield, and sat down to
a nice little dinner in his apartments (Sackville Street), when a visitor
was announced; and in came the slouching little figure of Mr. Barkington,
_alias_ Noah Skinner.
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.
Mr. Hardie suppressed a start, and said nothing. Skinner bowed low with a
mixture of his old cringing way, and a certain sly triumphant leer, so
that his body seemed to say one thing, and his face the opposite. Mr.
Hardie eyed him, and saw that his coat was rusty, and his hat napless:
then Mr. Hardie smelt a beggar, and prepared to parry all attempts upon
his purse.
"I hope I see my old master well," said Skinner coaxingly.
"Pretty well in body, Skinner; thank you."
"I had a deal of trouble to find you, sir. But I heard of the great
lawsuit between Mr. Alfred and you, and I knew Mr. Heathfield was your
solicitor; so I watched at his place day after day: and at last you came.
Oh, I was so pleased when I saw your noble figure; but I wouldn't speak
to you in the street for fear of disgracing you.
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