'A scar on the right cheek,' he said slowly, 'from the ear to the mouth.'
'What kind of a looking man is he?' asked the old lady, pushing away her plate with a nervous gesture.
'Something like a gipsy—lean, tall and swarthy, with jet-black eyes and an evil expression. He talks like an educated person.'
'You seem to know all about him, Cargrim,' said Captain Pendle, in some surprise, while Miss Whichello, her rosy face pale and scared, sat silently staring at the tablecloth.
'I have several times been to an hotel called The Derby Winner,' explained the chaplain, 'to see a sick woman; and there I came across this scamp several times. He stays there, I believe!'
'What is his name?' asked Miss Whichello, hoarsely.
'Jentham, I have been informed.'
'Jentham! I don't know the name.'
'I don't suppose you know the man either, aunty?'
'No, my love,' replied Miss Whichello, in a low voice. 'I don't suppose I know the man either. Is he still at The Derby Winner, Mr Cargrim?'