e jury. Miss
Howard was obviously quite a public character.

"Anyway, all this tomfoolery is a great waste of time," continued the
lady, glancing up and down the jury disparagingly. "Talk--talk--talk!
When all the time we know perfectly well----"

The Coroner interrupted her in an agony of apprehension:

"Thank you, Miss Howard, that is all."

I fancy he breathed a sigh of relief when she complied.

Then came the sensation of the day. The Coroner called Albert Mace,
chemist's assistant.

It was our agitated young man of the pale face. In answer to the
Coroner's questions, he explained that he was a qualified pharmacist,
but had only recently come to this particular shop, as the assistant
formerly there had just been called up for the army.

These preliminaries completed, the Coroner proceeded to business.

"Mr. Mace, have you lately sold strychnine to any unauthorized person?"

"Yes, sir."

"When was this?"

"Last Monday night."

"Monday? Not Tuesday?"

"No, sir, Monday, the 16th."

"Will you tell us to whom you sold it?"

You could have heard a pin drop.

"Yes, sir. It was to Mr. Inglethorp."

Every eye turned simultaneously to where Alfred Inglethorp was sitting,
impassive and wooden. He started slightly, as the damning words fell
from the young man's lips. I half thought he was going to rise from
his chair, but he remained seated, although a remarkably well acted
expression of astonishment rose on his face.

"You are sure of what you say?" asked the Coroner sternly.

"Quite sure, sir."

"Are you in the habit of selling strychnine indiscriminately over the
counter?"

The wretched young man wilted visibly under the Coroner's frown.

"Oh, no, sir--of course not. But, seeing it was Mr. Inglethorp of the
Hall, I thought there was no harm in it. He said it was to poison a
dog."

Inwardly I sympathized. It was only human nature to endeavour to please
"The Hall"--especially when it might result in custom being transferred
from Coot's to the local establishment.

"Is it not customary for anyone purchasing poison to sign a book?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Inglethorp did so."

"Have you got the book here?"

"Yes, sir."

It was produced; and, with a few words of stern censure, the Coroner
dismissed the wretched Mr. Mace.

Then, amidst a breathless silence, Alfred Inglethorp was called. Did he
realize, I wondered, how closely the halter was being drawn around his
neck?

The Coroner went straight to