‘Only a constable, Henry, dear,’ she repeated, seeing how he trembled. ‘It is probably something to do with this unhappy business! Will you see him here?’ ‘No! no!’ replied her husband, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, ‘not here! Let him wait, Johnson! I will be with him presently--presently!’ Could anything have been discovered? he thought to himself, as he leant against the form of his wife for support, and she passed her cambric handkerchief across his wet hair. Was it possible he had dropped any article belonging to him on the spot where he and Jenny had stood together? Had this man come to tell him that he was suspected, and must consider himself under arrest until the inquest had been held on the morrow? He pushed Hannah’s kindly ministrations away and stood upright. ‘I cannot see him in this condition,’ he said, alluding to his swollen eyelids and stained cheeks. ‘I must go to my room first and smooth my hair.’ He escaped by a back way as he spoke, and gaining his dressing-room, arranged his toilet a little. Then he searched in a drawer for a bottle of morphia, which he had been occasionally in the habit of taking to induce sleep, for the condition of his mind regarding Jenny Crampton had not been conducive to sound and restful repose. ‘If I am taken away from here,’ he thought, ‘I will not reach Dover. They shall see I know a trick worth two of that.’ He thrust the vial in his breast and descended to the hall to interview the constable. But he had come on a very simple errand. He had received information from the Dover police that the inquiry on the death of Mrs Walcheren had been fixed for the morrow, and that Mr Hindes’ presence would be necessary. ‘You see, sir,’ said the man, fumbling with his papers, ‘we’re sorry to trouble you, but as you went down to Dover to see the lady, it is necessary the coroner should hear the why and the wherefore of everything to come to a right understanding of the case. It’s a sad thing, ain’t it, sir? A poor young creature done to death in a moment, as you may say, and only married on the Friday.’ ‘A frightful thing, indeed, constable!’ replied Hindes. ‘The poor gentleman, they say, is almost out of his senses, as he well may be,’ continued the policeman; ‘they can’t get him away from the corpse, and he turns round like a madman on any one who proposes of it. Perhaps so be you’re a relation, sir!’ ‘No, no; only a friend,’ said Hindes, quickly. ‘Well, he ought to have some friend by him now, if all they tell me is true, for the shock seems to have unsettled his mind. The inquiry won’t be till three o’clock to-morrow afternoon, sir, at the ‘Bottle and Spurs’ public-house, where the poor lady lies. If you’re there, sir, they’ll get it over at once, but if so be as you’re not there, the jury will have to be called to attend another day.’