The next scrap of paper
produced by the prosecution was another matter. It was
the mere torn end of a greasy sheet; upon it was written
"Not less than 3,000 net," and it had been found in the
turning out of Ormiston's dressing-table. It might have
been anything--a number of people pursed their lips
contemptuously--or it might have been, without doubt,
the fragment of a disreputable transaction that the
prosecuting counsel endeavoured to show it. Here, no
doubt, was one of the pieces of evidence the prosecution
was understood to have up its sleeve, and that portion
of the prosecuting counsel's garment was watched with
feverish interest for further disclosures. They came
rapidly enough, but we must hurry them even more. The
name of Miss Florence Belton, when it rose to the surface
of the evidence, riveted every eye and ear. Miss Belton
was one of those ambiguous ladies who sometimes drift
out from the metropolitan vortex and circle restfully in
backwaters for varying periods, appearing and disappearing
irrelevantly. They dress beautifully; they are known to
"paint" and thought to dye their hair. They establish no
relations, being much too preoccupied. making exceptions
only, as a rule, in favour of one or two young men, to
whom they extend amenities based--it is the common
talk--upon late hours and whiskey-and-soda.
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