'He's a gipsy, is he?' said Cargrim, alertly.
'So he says, sir; and I knows as he goes sometimes to that camp of gipsies on Southberry Heath.'
'Where does he get his money from?'
'Better not inquire into that, Mr Cargrim,' said Mrs Pansey, with a sniff.
'Oh, Mr Jentham's honest, I'm sure, mum. He's bin at the gold diggin's and 'ave made a trifle of money. Indeed, I don't know where he ain't been, sir. The four pints of the compass is all plain sailing to 'im; and his 'airbreadth escapes is too h'awful. I shivers and shudders when I 'ears 'em.'
'What is he doing here?'
'He's on business; but I don't know what kind. Oh, he knows 'ow to 'old 'is tongue, does Jentham.'
'He is a gipsy, he consorts with gipsies, he has money, and no one knows where he comes from,' summed up Cargrim. 'I think, Mrs Pansey, we may regard this man as a dangerous character.'
'I shouldn't be surprised to hear he was an Anarchist,' said Mrs Pansey, who knew nothing about the man. 'Well, Mrs Mosk, I hope we've cheered you up. I'll go now. Read this tract,' bestowing a grimy little pamphlet, 'and don't see too much of Mr Pendle.'
'But he comforts me,' said poor Mrs Mosk; 'he reads beautiful.'