The last name in this neighbourhood was that of Hector Press, of Haymarket Court. Haymarket Court proved to be a block of bachelor flats just behind His Majesty’s Theatre, and Mr. Press, a valet employed in the flats by the management, to look after such of the residents as had not their own men to valet them. Mr. Press wore a neat black suit, well oiled hair, and blue chin. His voice was carefully controlled and he displayed a slight tendency to patronize a “policeman.” He had, he said, submitted his name as a witness since reading the account of the inquest in last night’s evening paper, because he had been struck by a possible discrepancy between the evidence there given and his own observation. On the evening in question (something after six—he couldn’t say nearer), he had been going from Haymarket Court to visit an acquaintance in Queen Anne’s Mansions—he usually had an hour or two off, between five and seven if he had got the gentleman’s dress clothes ready—but on reaching the top of the Duke of York’s Steps, he suddenly remembered that Captain Dollington required his bag packed for a visit to Newmarket. Shocked by his forgetfulness, he had whisked quickly round and had been nearly cannoned into by a gentleman walking just behind him. This gentleman had evidently been startled or annoyed by the check to his progress because he had sworn at Mr. Press in a manner that caused the valet to stare at him as he hurried on. So it was that Mr. Press had seen the gentleman break into a run down the steps and, a few seconds later, to stumble and knock against two gentlemen in tall hats who were about half-way down. The particular point that Mr. Press wished to make was that this gentleman had been referred to in the evidence as an Admiralty messenger, or, if not quite that, at any rate the impression had been given that he was a man of the clerk class, taking a message to the Admiralty. Now Mr. Press had had great experience of gentlemen and he not only knew one when he saw one, but still more when he heard one. The particular oath which had been hurled at him had unquestionably been a gentleman’s oath and the voice was a gentleman’s voice. Of that Mr. Press had no doubt at all and he was prepared to state his opinion on oath. Questioned by Poole, the valet was not prepared to say for certain that a blow had not been struck but he had certainly not seen one, though he had been watching the gentleman right up to the moment of the collision. As to appearance and clothes, he had no hesitation in saying that the gentleman was of medium height, about thirty-five years of age, and wore a dark moustache, together with a bowler hat and an overcoat of medium-grey cloth—the latter by no means new or well cared for. He had not gone down the Steps to see what had happened, as he was in a hurry to get back and pack Captain Dollington’s bag.