ering to
his description had been observed on the platform of Stanton station,
apparently waiting to catch the 3.55 up train to London. As the jury
would realize, such evidence of identity was not always reliable.
Missing men had a way of being seen in a dozen different places at once.
In any case, there was no doubt that for the moment Mark Ablett had
disappeared.

"Seems a sound man," whispered Antony to Bill. "Doesn't talk too much."

Antony did not expect to learn much from the evidence--he knew the
facts of the case so well by now--but he wondered if Inspector Birch had
developed any new theories. If so, they would appear in the Coroner's
examination, for the Coroner would certainly have been coached by the
police as to the important facts to be extracted from each witness. Bill
was the first to be put through it.

"Now, about this letter, Mr. Beverley?" he was asked when his chief
evidence was over. "Did you see it at all?"

"I didn't see the actual writing. I saw the back of it. Mark was holding
it up when he told us about his brother."

"You don't know what was in it, then?"

Bill had a sudden shock. He had read the letter only that morning. He
knew quite well what was in it. But it wouldn't do to admit this. And
then, just as he was about to perjure himself, he remembered: Antony had
heard Cayley telling the Inspector.

"I knew afterwards. I was told. But Mark didn't read it out at
breakfast."

"You gathered, however, that it was an unwelcome letter?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Would you say that Mark was frightened by it?"

"Not frightened. Sort of bitter--and resigned. Sort of 'Oh, Lord, here
we are again!'"

There was a titter here and there. The Coroner smiled, and tried to
pretend that he hadn't.

"Thank you, Mr. Beverley."

The next witness was summoned by the name of Andrew Amos, and Antony
looked up with interest, wondering who he was.

"He lives at the inner lodge," whispered Bill to him.

All that Amos had to say was that a stranger had passed by his lodge at
a little before three that afternoon, and had spoken to him. He had seen
the body and recognized it as the man.

"What did he say?"

"'Is this right for the Red House?' or something like that, sir."

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'This is the Red House. Who do you want to see?' He was a
bit rough-looking, you know, sir, and I didn't know what he was doing
there."

"Well?"

"Well, sir, he said, 'Is Mister Mark Ablett at home?' It