Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers. The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how he dared-
"I'll tell you," said Sydney.
"I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad, coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was contemplating the walls, an hour or more ago.
You have a face to be remembered, and I remember faces well.
Made curious by seeing you in that connection, and having a reason, to which you are no stranger, for associating you with the misfortunes of a friend now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction.
I walked into the wine-shop here, close after you, and sat near you.
I had no difficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of your calling.
And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed to shape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad."
"What purpose?" the spy asked.
"It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some minutes of your company-at the office of Tellson's Bank, for instance?"