r and witness.

But the witness had no more to say--except to suggest that the bank's
Melbourne agents should be cabled to for information, since it was
unlikely that much more could be got in England. And with that the
middle stage of the proceedings ended--and the last one came, watched
by Bryce with increasing anxiety. For it was soon evident, from certain
remarks made by the Coroner, that the theory which Archdale had put
forward at the club in Bryce's hearing the previous day had gained
favour with the authorities, and that the visit of the jurymen to the
scene of the disaster had been intended by the Coroner to predispose
them in behalf of it. And now Archdale himself, as representing the
architects who held a retaining fee in connection with the Cathedral,
was called to give his opinion--and he gave it in almost the same words
which Bryce had heard him use twenty-four hours previously. After him
came the master-mason, expressing the same decided conviction--that the
real truth was that the pavement of the gallery had at that particular
place become so smooth, and was inclined towards the open doorway at
such a sharp angle, that the unfortunate man had lost his footing on it,
and before he could recover it had been shot out of the arch and over
the broken head of St. Wrytha's Stair. And though, at a juryman's wish,
Varner was recalled, and stuck stoutly to his original story of having
seen a hand which, he protested, was certainly not that of the dead
man, it soon became plain that the jury shared the Coroner's belief that
Varner in his fright and excitement had been mistaken, and no one was
surprised when the foreman, after a very brief consultation with his
fellows, announced a verdict of death by misadventure.

"So the city's cleared of the stain of murder!" said a man who sat next
to Bryce. "That's a good job, anyway! Nasty thing, doctor, to think of
a murder being committed in a cathedral. There'd be a question of
sacrilege, of course--and all sorts of complications."

Bryce made no answer. He was watching Ransford, who was talking to the
Coroner. And he was not mistaken now--Ransford's face bore all the
signs of infinite relief. From--what? Bryce turned, to leave the stuffy,
rapidly-emptying court. And as he passed the centre table he saw old
Simpson Harker, who, after sitting in attentive silence for three hours
had come up to it, picked up the "History of Barthorpe" which had
been found in Braden's suit-