We pushed our way through the crowd on the Court House steps and into the building. The inquest was to be held on the second floor, and the steps leading to the room were crowded. I doubt if we would have been able to get through the people if it had not been for one of the village policemen, who, recognizing Carter, managed to get us to the second floor. And even here the hallway was filled. When we succeeded in getting into the court room, it was to find people standing along the walls. In some manner the chief recognized us in the crowd and beckoned for us to come to the front of the room. After much pushing, we reached the rail which divided the spectators from the space reserved for the court officials. Behind it we found three chairs had been reserved for us. Behind the desk where the judge sat when Court was in session was the coroner, who gave us a half smile of greeting. The chief came over to our side, and in reply to a question from Carter, if he had discovered anything new, shook his head. The court room was packed to overflowing—an uneasy mass of men, whose eyes showed the excitement they were under. Over the room hung the low murmur of whispers, and the few women in the place gazed eagerly around. Though all space was taken, and people were even standing two deep along the walls, yet at the door late arrivals were trying to crowd their way into the room. The murder had brought them out—that strange streak of cruelty or morbidness which is in so many people. I saw Ranville give the place a curious look, and knew that he was thinking of similar scenes in England. The sheriff, a tall, heavy-set man, rose and announced that no more people would be allowed in the room and requested that those present be silent while the inquest was on. And then, within the next ten minutes, the jury was chosen. It took but a little time to secure them, for they simply called twelve men—men who filed into the jury box with a very serious air, and men who also seemed secretly well pleased at the place of importance which was given. In rapid succession Carter, Ranville and myself went on the stand and told the story of our finding of the body. Ranville's announcement that he was an Inspector of Scotland Yard created a good deal of comment, and I heard whispers go around the room. But our testimony was of little importance, for we had nothing new that we could tell. When I stepped down from the stand, the coroner looked at the papers on his desk, then motioned to the chief and after a moment's whispered conversation called the name of the housekeeper, Mrs. Lawrence.