“Everything at the same time resting upon the said Campion’s word.”
“My dear Gastineau, why will you persist in being so sceptical?” Herriard protested, at last a little irritated. “No one but yourself sees any reason to doubt the fellow. He has never contradicted himself, or swerved from the straightforward story he first told.”
“Oh, he is not a fool, I grant you.”
“And I am positive he is not a knave. I wish you could see him.”
Gastineau gave an ugly laugh. “Thank you; I don’t want to. It is unfortunate, seeing his seems to be a pretty piece of dovetailed evidence, but I do not believe in your Mr. Campion.”
“It is prejudice,” Herriard expostulated.
“Call it what you like,” Gastineau returned. “I think you will find that I am right. This last move of his was exactly what circumstances required, and is precisely what I should have expected. How does he describe the man he saw?”
“A dark man with black hair, a pale face and piercing eyes. It is by the eyes, he says, that he would recognize him anywhere.”
“And you have not yet found out which of the Duchess’s guests answers to that description?”
“That is not easy,” Herriard replied, with a smile.