'I know next to nothing of his associations. There was an old gipsy woman who pretended to tell his fortune by the river side the day before the races, when he and the rest of us happened to be walking together. He gave her money then, and he gave her money on the race day, when she was hanging about the carriage, begging for drink.'
Churchill Penwyn, who had been looking at the ground, in a listening attitude hitherto, raised his eyes at this juncture, half in interrogation, half in surprise.
'Is that all you know about the deceased?' continued Mr. Pergament.
'About all. I had only enjoyed his acquaintance six-and-thirty hours at the time of the murder.'
'You can sit down,' said Mr. Pergament.
'Justina Elgood,' cried the summoning officer, and Justina stood up in the crowded room, pale to the lips, but unfaltering.
Again Churchill Penwyn raised those thoughtful eyes of his, and looked at the girl's pallid face.
'Not a common type of girl,' he said to himself.