inal verdict should
be left in the hands of the authorities.

CHAPTER VII

"ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS"

The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had
led up to it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were
almost dull.

The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on
conducting this _cause celebre_ with as little ostentation as he would
have displayed over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin
and Hobbs, with eight other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the
jurors, and the chemist was promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were
ordered out of court; the formalities of "swearing in" the jury and
"viewing" the body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant had
time to assimilate these details Superintendent Fowler, who marshalled
the evidence, called his name. The coroner's officer tendered him a
well-thumbed Bible, while the coroner himself administered the oath.

Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it to
his lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged
Tomlin, and sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say:
"What did I tell you? The cheek of him!"

Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant
his haggard aspect became more noticeable.

Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A
stranger, whom Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief
Constable. There was a strong muster of police, and the representatives
of the press completely monopolized the scanty accommodation for the
public. To Grant's relief, Doris Martin was not in attendance.

He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish's corpse. A
harmless question by the coroner evoked the first "scene" which set the
reporters' pencils busy.

"Did you recognize the body!" inquired Mr. Belcher.

"I did."

"Then you can give the jury her name?"

Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid
with passion.

"I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my
wife," he said.

He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His
flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark Antony
have spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man.

"Who are you?" demanded the coroner sharply.

"Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady," came the
clear-toned re