rain such extraordinary consequences.

But Jim Baker, mildly astonished at the coroner's insistence over so
obvious a matter, explained meekly:

"We knew that Paul was doin' well, you see, sir. 'E was that
splendidly dressed when Emily and young Smith seed 'im they was quite
respectful like to 'im. So we knew 'e was all right."

"And you never troubled any further about your son?"

"We didn't want to interfere with 'im, sir. Gentlemen don't allus like
their servants to be 'aving visitors, or to 'obnob with poor people
like us."

More calm philosophy not unmixed with a delicate sense of pride this
time, and a sublime if unconscious vein of selflessness.

"Well," rejoined the coroner, not unkindly this time--the man who
looked so like a beetle, who was so humble and apologetic, compelled
quite a certain amount of regard--"we'll leave that matter for the
moment, Mr. Baker. Now will you tell the jury what made you come to
this court to-day? What led you to think that the man who had been
murdered in a cab the night before last, and of whom all the
newspapers spoke as Mr. Philip de Mountford--what made you think that
he was your son?"

Jim Baker by way of a reply plunged one of his thin hands in the
pocket of his shabby coat and drew out a portion of very grimy
newspaper carefully folded up quite small. He undid the folds until
his eyes lighted on that which they sought. Then he held the paper
out toward the coroner and pointed to a picture sandwiched in among
the letter-press.

"I saw this," he said, "in the _Daily Graphic_ yesterday. It's the
picture of Paul, I says to myself."

The coroner took the paper from the witness and laid it down on the
table, glancing at it casually. There had been innumerable portraits
of the murdered man published both in the morning and the evening
papers of yesterday.

"It's Paul to the life," insisted Jim Baker. "I was at my work, you
understand, when I seed the paper in one o' the other chaps' 'ands. I
couldn't give up my work then. I 'ad to wait till evenin' to speak to
my missus. Then we talked it all over, and young Smith 'e took a day
off and me too, and Mrs. Baker and Emily and Jane Smith, they all come
along."

"And you looked on the face of the dead man, and you swear that it is
your son?"

"I take my oath, sir. Ask 'is mother there. She knows 'er own son.
She'll tell you just what vaccination marks 'e 'ad on 'is arm, and
about the scar on 'is leg and all. The ladies