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He heard of them from Peppermore, whose journalistic itching for news had so far gone unrelieved; Peppermore himself knew no more than that rumour was busy, and secret. "Can't make out for the life of me what it is, Mr. Brent!" said Peppermore, calling upon Brent at the Chancellor on the eve of the inquiry. "But there's something, sir, something! You know that boy of mine young Pryder?"
"Young Pryder, he told me this afternoon that his father, when he came home to dinner to-day, said to him and his mother that when the inquest's reopened to-morrow there's be something to talk about somebody, said Sergeant Pryder, would have something to talk of before the day was over. So there you are!" "I suppose old Pryder didn't tell young Pryder any more than that?" suggested Brent.
"Whatever Sergeant Pryder knows he's got from Hawthwaite, of course," remarked Brent. "To be sure, sir!" agreed Peppermore. "Hawthwaite's been up to something I've felt that for some days. I imagine there'll be new witnesses to-morrow, but who they'll be I can't think." Brent could not think, either, nor did he understand Hawthwaite's reserve.
"He did not, sir," said Peppermore. "Had he done so, Jimmy Pryder would have made half a column, big type, leaded, out of it. No; nothing more. There are men in this world, Mr. Brent, as you have doubtless observed, who are given to throwing out mere hints sort of men who always look at you as much as to say, 'Ah, I could tell a lot if I would! I guess Sergeant Pryder's one of 'em."
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