“But Dr. Stapylton had sent in an excuse. A professional case of the utmost urgency had kept him at a patient’s bedside. But Dr. Kinnaird, the President of the institution, came forward. “Questioned by the coroner, Dr. Kinnaird, however, who evidently had a great regard for his colleague, repudiated any idea that the funds of the institution had ever been tampered with by the Treasurer. “‘The very suggestion of such a thing,’ he said, ‘was an outrage upon one of the most brilliant men in the profession.’ “He further added that, although he knew that Dr. Stapylton thought very highly of Miss Elliott, he did not think that there was any actual engagement, and most decidedly he (Dr. Kinnaird) had heard nothing of any disagreement between them. “‘Then did Dr. Stapylton never tell you that Miss Elliott had often chafed under the extraordinary economy practised in the richly-endowed Home?’ asked the coroner again. “‘No,’ replied Dr. Kinnaird. “‘Was not that rather strange reticence?’ “‘Certainly not. I am only the Honorary President of the institution—Stapylton has chief control of its finances.’ “‘Ah!’ remarked the coroner blandly. “However, it was clearly no business of his at this moment to enter into the financial affairs of the Home. His duty at this point was to try and find out if Dr. Stapylton and the man in evening dress were one and the same person. “The men who found the body testified to the hour: a quarter past midnight. As Fiske had seen the unfortunate girl alive a little before twelve, she must have been murdered or had committed suicide between midnight and a quarter past. But there was something more to come. “How strange and dramatic it all was!” continued the man in the corner, with a bland smile, altogether out of keeping with the poignancy of his narrative; “all these people in that crowded court trying to reconstruct the last chapter of that bright young matron’s life and then—but I must not anticipate. “One more witness was to be heard—one whom the police, with a totally unconscious sense of what is dramatic, had reserved for the last. This was Dr. Earnshaw, one of the staff of the Convalescent Home. His evidence was very short, but of deeply momentous import. He explained that he had consulting rooms in Weymouth Street, but resided in Westbourne Square. On Sunday, 1st November, he had been dining out in Maida Vale, and returning home a little before midnight saw a woman standing close by the steps of the foot-bridge in the Blomfield Road. “‘I had been coming down Formosa Street and had not specially taken notice of her, when just as I reached the corner of Blomfield Road she was joined by a man in evening dress and high hat. Then I crossed the road, and recognised both Miss Elliott and——’ “The young doctor paused, almost as if hesitating before the enormity of what he was about to say, whilst the excitement in court became almost painful. “‘And——?’ urged the coroner.