"And you were about the door--at a desk there, eh?--until when?" "Till after eight, sir." "But you say you were absent for a short time, twice?" "Yes, sir, I remember now that I was." "What were the times of those two absences?" "Well, sir, about ten minutes to seven I went along to the charge office for a few minutes--five or six minutes. Then at about a quarter to eight I went downstairs into the cellar to get some paraffin for a lamp--I might be away as long, then, sir." "And, of course, during your absence anybody could have left or entered--unnoticed?" "Well, they could, sir, but I don't think anybody did." "Why, now?" "Because, sir, the door opening into St. Laurence Lane is a very heavy one, and I never heard it either open or close. The latch is a heavy one, too, sir, and uncommon stiff." "Still, anybody might," observed the Coroner. "Now, what is the length of the passage between that door, the door at the foot of the stairs leading to this court--by which anybody would have to come to get that way to the Mayor's Parlour?" The witness reflected for a moment. "Well, about ten yards, sir," he answered. The Coroner looked at the plan which the Borough Surveyor had placed before him and the jury a few minutes previously. Before he could say anything further, Hawthwaite rose from his seat and making his way to him exchanged a few whispered remarks with him. Presently the Coroner nodded, as if in assent to some suggestions. "Oh, very well," he said. "Then perhaps we'd better have her at once. Call--what's her name, did you say? Oh, yes--Sarah Jane Spizey!" From amidst a heterogeneous collection of folk, men and women, congregated at the rear of the witness-box, a woman came forward--one of the most extraordinary looking creatures that he had ever seen, thought Brent. She was nearly six feet in height; she was correspondingly built; her arms appeared to be as brawny as a navvy's; her face was of the shape and roundness of a full moon; her mouth was a wide slit, her nose a button; her eyes were as shrewd and hard as they were small and close-set. A very Grenadier of a woman!--and apparently quite unmoved by the knowledge that everybody was staring at her. Sarah Jane Spizey--yes. Wife of the Town Bellman. Resident in St. Laurence Lane. Went out charing sometimes; sometimes worked at Marriner's Laundry. Odd-job woman, in fact. "Mrs. Spizey," said the Coroner, "I understand that on the evening of Mr. Wallingford's death you were engaged in some work in the Moot Hall. Is that so?" "Yes, sir. Which I was a-washing the floor of this very court." "What time was that, Mrs. Spizey?" "Which I was at it, your Worshipful, from six o'clock to eight." "Did you leave this place at all during that time?" "Not once, sir; not for a minute." "Now during the whole of that time, Mrs. Spizey, did you see anybody come up those stairs, cross the court, and go towards the Mayor's Parlour?"