lish juryman there could for the present dwell no certainty that
a murderer--an unknown murderer--did exist.

They were all here--he and the others and the coroner--in order to
find out if there had been a murder committed or not.

The coroner, one elbow on the table, one large hand holding firmly the
somewhat fleshy chin, looked at the juryman somewhat contemptuously.

"You mean?" he queried with an obvious effort at patience.

"I mean," resumed the man more firmly, "in this present instance,
would a certain medical or anatomical knowledge be necessary in order
to strike--er--or to thrust--so precisely--just on the right spot to
cause immediate death?"

With amiable condescension the coroner put the query to the witness in
more concise words.

"No, no," replied the doctor quickly, now that he had understood the
question, "the thrust argues no special anatomical knowledge. Most
laymen would know that if you pierce the throat from ear to ear
suffocation is bound to ensue. It was easily enough done."

"When the deceased's head was turned away?" asked the coroner.

"Why, yes--to look out on the fog, perhaps; or at a passer-by. It
would be fairly easy if the would-be murderer was quick and determined
and the victim unsuspecting."

And Doctor Blair, with long tapering fingers, pointed toward his own
throat, giving illustration of how easily the deed might be done.

"Given the requisite weapon of course."

After a few more courteous questions of a technical kind, the first
witness was dismissed--only momentarily, for he would be required
again--when the green baize would be lifted from the hidden Something
which lay there ready to hand, and the medical man be asked to
pronounce finally whether indeed the dagger stick was the requisite
weapon for the deed which had been so easy of accomplishment.

The chauffeur who had driven the taxicab was the next witness called.
A thick-set man, in dark blue Melton coat and peaked cap, he came
forward with that swinging gait which betrayed the ex-coachman.

He gave his evidence well and to the point. He had been hailed on the
night in question by two gentlemen in evening dress. It was in
Shaftesbury Avenue, just opposite the Lyric Theatre, and a little
while after he had heard St. Martin's Church clock strike nine
o'clock. "The fog was so dense," he added, "you could not see your
hand before your eyes."

He had just put down at the Apollo and had crossed over to the left,