Mr. Brent, the solicitor, visited him in his confinement, and discussed the facts of the case.
'It's hard upon you, both ways,' said the lawyer; 'hard to lose your friend, and still harder to find yourself exposed to this monstrous suspicion.'
'I don't care two straws for the suspicion,' answered Maurice, 'but I do care very much for the loss of my friend. He was one of the best fellows that ever lived—so bright, so brimming over with freshness and vitality. If I had not seen him lying in that tavern, stark and cold, I couldn't bring myself to believe in his death. It's hard to believe in it, even with the memory of that poor murdered clay fresh in my mind. Poor James! I loved him like a younger brother!'
'You have no knowledge of any circumstances in his life that can help us to find the murderer?' asked Mr. Brent.
'I know of nothing. He had picked up some people I didn't care about his being intimate with, strolling players, who are acting at the theatre in this place. But my worst fear was that he might be trapped into some promise of marriage. I can hardly fancy these people concerned in a crime.'
'No. They are for the most part harmless vagabonds,' replied the lawyer. 'Do you know where Mr. Penwyn spent last night?'
'With these people, no doubt—a man called Elgood, and his daughter. The man ought to be called as a witness, I should think.'
'Unquestionably. We'll have him before the coroner next Saturday, and we'll keep an eye upon him meanwhile.'