It's a case, sir, as you'll hear of again, and be
proud to say, in after years, that you was mixed
up with it from the first."

The inquest which was organised for the
purpose of making due inquiry into the
circumstances attending the death of Diana Carrington,
was not a more impressive ceremony than others
of its class. The coroner sat at the end of the
table, and was "faced" by the foremost juryman.
The others were seated round the table in no
particular order. There was that curious hardness
about the manner of the coroner which is
commonly observable in all persons who are much
mixed up professionally with death and with
scenes of horror and suffering. Brisk, energetic,
little ready to be drawn aside into a consideration
of collateral issues, destitute, apparently, of feeling,
this man did his work well, and, in every
practical point, tenderly and considerately. A
smart man this, very particular as to his attire,
and not ill-provided with chains and breloques.
There was not a better watch in the parish than
that which ticked against his healthy and spare
abdomen.

"Well, gentlemen," began the coroner, after
the inevitable sotto voce consultations with the
beadle and one or two other officials had been
gone through, and after the invariable messenger
had been despatched in search of somebody or
something, and had then been called back for
supplementary promptings, and then despatched
again—"well, gentlemen, we are met together
to inquire into the circumstances attending the
death of this lady, Diana Carrington, whose
remains you have just seen, and who seems to have
come by her death in rather a suspicious manner,
the deceased having retired to rest in her usual
state of health, and having been found next morning
dead in her bed. It will be your business,
gentlemen, to ascertain how the deceased lady
came by her death, and to examine such witnesses
as are most likely to be able to throw some light
upon the subject. Are the witnesses all here,
Robbins?"

"Yes, your worship."

"Who stands first on the list?"

"Jane Cantanker, your worship."

"Call Jane Cantanker," said the coroner.

Jane Cantanker was there already, with dry
red glaring eyes, like a she-wolf deprived of her
whelps. She was perfectly self-possessed and
unembarrassed. Embarrassment belongs to those
who are occupied with themselves. Cantanker
was engrossed with other matters. Her mistress
lay dead. How had she died?

The examination of this witness was about to
commence, when it became understood that she
had some preliminary observations to make.

"I wish to say something of importance before
I am examined," said Cantanker.

"What have you to say?" asked the coroner.

"There is a person connected with this case,"
she said abruptly, " whom I suspect of foul play,
and I wish to know whether any steps can be
taken to ensure her being kept in custody while
the inquiry goes on. I speak of Mrs. Penmore,
the lady of the house in which my mistress
died."

"The lady will be examined at the proper
time," said the coroner, referring to a paper in
his hand. " In the mean time, the jury cannot
listen to any denunciations on your part. You
must give your evidence as the other
witnesses will, and it will be for the jury to
decide to whom, if to any one, suspicion should
attach."

The evidence then followed. This is not the
proper place in which to give it. It is enough
to say that what the witness had stated
previously to Dr. Giles in his consulting-room, was
again gone through, the witness dwelling,
however, with additional insistance upon the
unnatural eagerness, as she called it, which Mrs.
Penmore had manifested in her request to be
allowed to supply Cantanker's place in taking the
supper-tray up-stairs with her own hands. She
dwelt on this, and made much of it, as she did of
the fact that, in going up-stairs with those
refreshments, Mrs. Penmore had stepped aside into
the room on the first floor, remaining there some
little time. It was evidently the wish of the
witness to imply that in that interval Mrs.
Penmore had tampered with the meat and drink
which she was carrying up-stairs, though of
course this was not said in so many words, but
only unmistakably hinted at. There was much
sensation among the jurymen during the whole
of this narrative, and they whispered together
frequently during its delivery.

It was, perhaps, unfortunate for Gabrielle that
her evidence came next, as that of the last
witness had certainly not impressed the jury
favourably towards her. She was dreadfully
nervous too, and agitated. The circumstances
in which she found herself were so new to her.
That large tavern-room, with its smell of beer
and stale tobacco; the rough, strange-looking
people about the place; the policemen, a class
with whom she had never thought it possible
she could have any converse, unless it was to
claim protection from them. All these things,
together with the inquiring looks of the
members of the jury, which were fixed upon her with
a combination of curiosity and suspicion, served
to fill her with such terror and confusion as
rendered her evidence at first hardly intelligible.
The coroner, though, as has been said, rather a
hard man, was disposed to help her, and give
her time, but even he looked gravely on her, and
even his kindness had a cold tone about it, she
thought. It seemed to her that this gentleman
considered himself as examining a culprit rather
than a witness. It may be that he felt this
himself.

Poor thing! It seems likely that Gabrielle
must have been conscious during her examination
how much her own evidence was telling to
her disadvantage. All the facts seemed so
strongly to point against her. They all looked
so different now to what they had done at the