“‘I saw Dr. Stapylton, I spoke to him, and he spoke to me,’ he repeated most emphatically. “Every one in that court was watching Dr. Stapylton’s face, which wore an air of supreme nonchalance, even of contempt, but certainly neither of guilt nor of fear. “Of course, by that time _I_ had fully made up my mind as to where the hitch lay in this extraordinary mystery; but no one else had, and every one held their breath as Dr. Stapylton quietly stepped into the box, and after a few preliminary questions the coroner asked him very abruptly: “‘You were in the company of the deceased a few minutes before she died, Dr. Stapylton?’ “‘Pardon me,’ replied the latter quietly, ‘I last saw Miss Elliott alive on Saturday afternoon, just before I went home from my work.’ “This calm reply, delivered without a tremor, positively made every one gasp. For the moment coroner and jury were alike staggered. “‘But we have two witnesses here who saw you in the company of the deceased within a few minutes of twelve o’clock on the Sunday night!’ the coroner managed to gasp out at last. “‘Pardon me,’ again interposed the doctor, ‘these witnesses were mistaken.’ “‘Mistaken!’ “I think every one would have shouted out the word in boundless astonishment had they dared to do so. “‘Dr. Earnshaw was mistaken,’ reiterated Dr. Stapylton quietly. ‘He neither saw me nor did he speak to me.’ “‘You can substantiate that, of course?’ queried the coroner. “‘Pardon me,’ once more said the doctor, with utmost calm, ‘it is surely Dr. Earnshaw who should substantiate _his_ statement.’ “‘There is Constable Fiske’s corroborative evidence for that,’ retorted the coroner, somewhat nettled. “‘Hardly, I think. You see, the constable states that he saw a gentleman in evening dress, etc., talking to the deceased at a minute or two before twelve o’clock, and that when he heard the clock of St. Mary Magdalen chime the hour of midnight he was just walking away from the foot-bridge. Now, just as that very church clock was chiming that hour, I was stepping into a cab at the corner of Harrow Road, not a hundred yards _in front_ of Constable Fiske.’ “‘You swear to that?’ queried the coroner in amazement. “‘I can easily prove it,’ said Dr. Stapylton. ‘The cabman who drove me from there to my club is here and can corroborate my statement.’ “And amidst boundless excitement, John Smith, a hansom cab-driver, stated that he was hailed in the Harrow Road by the last witness, who told him to drive to the Royal Clinical Club, in Mardon Street. Just as he started off, St. Mary Magdalen’s church, close by, struck the hour of midnight.