“Ah!” Gastineau’s lips were curled in a cynically incredulous smile. “What is the position in life of this Mr. Campion?”
“Oh, he is a respectable fellow enough,” Herriard answered, a little dampened and set back by the other’s questioning attitude. “A clerk. I should say a man of the middle class, ready to turn his hand to anything decent.”
Gastineau’s smile broadened. “Including perjury?”
“My dear Gastineau,” Herriard protested, “I don’t think he is the man for that. I have just seen him at my chambers, and did my best to test his story. He seemed straightforward enough.”
“Let’s hope so,” Gastineau returned dryly. “So he went out to South America. To better his fortunes, presumably. Has he done so?”
“I don’t fancy he has,” Herriard was forced to admit.
“You did not question him on that subject?”
“No. We were too full of the more important one of his evidence.”
Gastineau gave a little impatient head-shake. “My dear Geof, I sometimes think I shall never teach you to look at a case and a witness from the other side’s point of view. Now, which do you suppose Macvee, or any counsel with a head on his shoulders, would go for in this case, the evidence or the man?”
“The man, no doubt, seeing that his evidence, as we take it, can scarcely be shaken. It does not, however, necessarily follow that poverty and perjury go together.”