rious
fact that, although he had followed the profession of journalist for
several years, he had never until then been present at the holding of
this--one of the most ancient forms of inquiry known to English law. But
he was familiar with the history of the thing--he knew that ever since
the days of Edward IV the Coroner had held his sitting, _super visum
corporis_, with the aid of at least twelve jurymen, _probi et legales
homines_, there was scarcely in all the range of English legal economy
an office more ancient. He inspected the Coroner and his jury with
curious interest--Seagrave, Coroner of the Honour of Hathelsborough, was
a keen-faced old lawyer, whose astute looks were relieved by a kindly
expression; his twelve good men and true were tradesmen of the town,
whose exterior promised a variety of character and temperament, from
the sharply alert to the dully unimaginative.

There were other people there in whom Brent was speedily interested, and
at whom he gazed with speculative attention in the opening stages of the
proceedings. The court was crowded: by the time Seagrave, as Coroner,
took his seat, there was not a square foot of even standing space. Brent
recognized a good many folk. There was Peppermore, with his sharp-eyed
boy assistant; there, ranged alongside of them, were many other
reporters, from the various county newspapers, and at least one man whom
Brent recognized as being from the Press Association in London. And
there was a big array of police, with Hawthwaite at its head, and there
were doctors, and officials of the Moot Hall, and, amongst the general
public, many men whom Brent remembered seeing the previous day in Bull's
Snug. Krevin Crood was among these; in a privileged seat, not far away,
sat his brother, the Alderman, with Queenie half-hidden at his side, and
his satellites, Mallett and Coppinger, in close attendance. And near
them, in another privileged place, sat a very pretty woman, of a
distinct and superior type, attired in semi-mourning, and accompanied by
her elderly female companion. Brent was looking at these two when
Tansley nudged his elbow.

"You see that handsome woman over there--next to the older one?" he
whispered. "That's the Mrs. Saumarez you've heard of--that your
unfortunate cousin was very friendly with. Rich young widow, she is, and
deuced pretty and attractive--Wallingford used to dine with her a good
deal. I wonder if she's any ideas about this mystery? However, I g