AT the table where Christian Harefield had sat at meat on Sunday evening, with his daughter and his daughter’s companion, sat the coroner, in the gathering dusk of Monday afternoon, with his jurymen in a row of heavy oaken chairs on either side of him--looking very much as if they were sitting at a new Barmecide’s dinner--to inquire into the cause or causes of Christian Harefield’s death. The inquest had been called for three o’clock, but it was nearly four, and the proceedings were but just beginning. There had been the usual delays--one or two jurymen late--a good deal of blundering in calling over the names--some small disputations about nothing particular--a general muddling away of time. And now the sky outside the heavy mullioned casements was deepening from gray to dun, the red glow of the fire was shining redder upon the oak panelling as the outside world darkened, the ticking of the clock on the chimney-piece sounded obtrusively above the half-whispered conversation, and the falling of a cinder on the hearth seemed as startling as the report of a gun. Mr. Scratchell sat at a corner of the table, note-book in hand, to watch the proceedings as Miss Harefield’s legal adviser. He had appointed himself to that post, and no one had disputed his right to it. Beatrix had asked for no legal advice. She knew that her father was dead, suddenly, mysteriously, awfully, but no instinct of her mind impelled her to seek comfort, counsel, or succour from Mr. Scratchell, or to throw herself into the sanctuary of English law. The coroner was Dr. Judson, of Great Yafford, a medical man much respected in his district, and a coroner who indulged in the eccentricity of thinking for himself. The proceedings were opened by the examination of Mr. Namby, who gave his opinion very decidedly upon the cause of death. He had no doubt upon this point. The deceased gentleman had died from an overdose of opium. He described those indications which led him to believe this, and Dr. Judson, who knew Taylor’s Medical Jurisprudence by heart, knew that the witness was right. Peacock, the butler, the last person who had seen Mr. Harefield alive, was the first witness examined, after the medical evidence had been heard, and the jury had withdrawn to view the body. He described the visit of the foreign gentleman, and his departure. He was not able to recall the gentleman’s name, although he had glanced at his card before he carried it to Mr. Harefield. The name was a foreign one, and had slipped out of his memory directly after he read it. Coroner. How long was he with your master? Peacock. It might be from an hour to an hour and a half. We were just beginning our suppers in the servants’ hall when the bell rang, and I opened the door to the strange gentleman. We hadn’t finished many minutes when Mr. Harefield rung his bell for me to let the strange gentleman out. Coroner. Do you usually take an hour and a half at your supper?