“It’s a lie. I sent no message.”
“Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. It’s a wicked thing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?”
“Susan!” cried her mistress, “I believe you are a bad, treacherous woman. I remember now that I saw you speaking to someone over the hedge.”
“That was my own business,” said the woman sullenly.
“Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom you spoke?” said Holmes.
“Well, if you know, what do you want to ask for?”
“I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Susan, it will be worth ten pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of Barney.”
“Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you have in the world.”
“So, a rich man? No; you smiled—a rich woman. Now we have got so far, you may as well give the name an
