'Don't say that, pretty gentleman. No one can look into the urn of fate.' 'And yet you and your tribe pretend to do it,' said Churchill. 'We study the stars more than others do, and learn to read 'em, my noble gentleman. I've read something in the stars about you since the night your cousin was murdered.' 'And pray what do the stars say of me?' inquired Churchill, with a scornful laugh. 'They say that you're a kind-hearted gentleman at bottom, and will befriend a poor gipsy.' 'I'm afraid they're out in their reckoning, for once in a way. Perhaps it was Mercury you got the information from. He's a notorious trickster. And now, pray, my good woman,' turning to see that they were beyond ken of the rest, 'what did you mean by sending me a letter to say you could tell me something about my cousin's death? If you really have any information to give, your wisest course is to carry it directly to the police; and if your information should lead to the discovery of the murderer, you may earn a reward that will provide for you for the rest of your life.' His eyes were on the woman's face as he spoke, with that intent look with which he was accustomed to read the human countenance. 'I've thought of that,' answered the gipsy, 'and I was very near going and telling all I knew to the police the morning after the murder, but I changed my mind about it when I heard you were here; I thought it might be better for me to see you first.' 'I can't quite fathom your motive. However as I am willing to give two hundred pounds reward for such information as may lead to the apprehension and conviction of the murderer, you may have come to the right person in coming to me; only, I tell you frankly, that, deeply as I am interested in the punishment of my cousin's assassin, I had rather not be troubled about details. I won't even ask the nature of your information. Take my advice, my good soul, and carry it to the police. They are the people to profit by it; they are the people to act upon it.' 'Yes, and cheat me of the reward after all choke me off with a five-pound note, perhaps. I know too much of the police to be over-inclined to trust 'em.' 'Is your information conclusive?' asked Churchill; 'certain to lead to the conviction of the murderer?' 'I won't say so much as that, but I know it's worth hearing, and worth paying for.' 'You may as well tell me all about it, if you don't like to tell the police.' 'What, without being paid for my secret? No, my pretty gentleman, I'm not such a fool as that.' 'Come,' said Churchill, with a laugh, 'what does your knowledge amount to? Nothing, I dare say, that every one else in Eborsham doesn't share. You know that my cousin has been murdered, and that I am anxious to find the murderer.' 'I know more than that, my noble gentleman.' 'What then?' 'I know who did it.' Churchill turned his quick glance upon her again, searching, incredulous, derisive.