with black bonnet and rusty jacket, was munching sandwiches in
a corner seat: a young man at the farther end of the room was
sharpening a lead-pencil.

By the door through which a brief while ago coroner and jury, also
Luke and Mr. Dobson had filed out--the door which apparently gave in
the direction of the mortuary--a small group in shabby clothes had
just entered the court room, escorted by one of the ushers. The latter
made his way to the coroner's table and whispered to that gentleman
somewhat animatedly. Louisa could not catch what he said, but she saw
that the coroner suddenly lost his morose air of habitual ennui, and
appeared keen and greatly interested in what he heard.

He gave certain instructions to the usher, who beckoned to the group
in the shabby clothes. They advanced with timid, anxious gait, a world
of unspoken apologies in their eyes as they surveyed the brilliant
company through which they had to pass. The feathers on Lady Ducies'
hat attracted the attention of one of them--a young girl with round
black eyes and highly decorated headgear: she nudged her companion and
pointed to the gargantuan hat and both the girls giggled almost
hysterically.

The man in front led the way. He was pale and cadaverous looking with
scanty hair and drooping moustache: in shape he was very like a
beetle, with limbs markedly bowed and held away from his stooping
body. There were five of them altogether, three women and two men.
Louisa was interested in them, vaguely wondering who they were.

That they were personages of importance in this case was apparent from
the fact that the usher was bringing some chairs for the women and
placing them close to those on which sat the solicitors, and Luke and
Louisa herself. The men were made to stand close by and remained just
where they had been told to stay, tweed cap in hand, miserably
conscious of the many pairs of eyes that were fixed upon them.

"Who are these people, do you know?"

Lady Ducies was leaning forward and had contrived to catch Luke's ear.

He turned round very politely.

"How do you do, Mr. de Mountford," she continued in her shrill treble,
which she took no trouble to subdue, "you hadn't seen me, had you?"

"No, Lady Ducies," he replied, "I had not."

"I don't wonder," she commented placidly, "you must feel so anxious.
Who are these common people over there, do you know?"

"No, I do not."

"Some of your late cousin's former associates perhaps?" sugg