Philip Walcheren stayed by him all through that night and until the coroner’s jury assembled on the following afternoon. At the appointed hour a noise, as of the trampling of many feet, sounded in the public bar of the house, and Philip touched Frederick gently on the shoulder. ‘Fred, dear old man, rouse yourself. Here are the coroner and jury coming to view the body. And Mr Crampton and Mr Hindes wish to come in first. Be brave, my dear cousin. It is a painful but necessary ordeal. Stand apart a little and let your wife’s father have access to the body. It is his right, you know.’ The young man stood up mechanically, and taking Philip’s arm staggered to the other side of the room. Mr Crampton entered, leaning on Henry Hindes. The latter was suffering the tortures of the damned. His eyes were not still for a moment, and his whole frame shook and quivered. The sight of the crushed and pallid corpse struck both men like a heavy blow. Old Crampton gazed at it for a minute, muttering, ‘My God! My God! can that be my Jenny?’ but Hindes said nothing, and kept his eyes turned on Frederick Walcheren. Presently Mr Crampton’s followed suit, and the sight appeared to rouse him into fury. ‘Yes!’ he exclaimed, brandishing his stick, ‘there lies my murdered child, and there stands her murderer.’ ‘Crampton, Crampton, think what you are saying!’ cried Hindes, shaking his friend’s arm, whilst Philip Walcheren said angrily, ‘If the effect of this sad sight, which should draw two men in misfortune together, is only to cause you to make malevolent and unjustifiable accusations, sir, I shall be compelled, as my cousin’s friend, to request you to leave the room. This lady may have been your daughter, but she was his wife, and as such, no one has a right to intrude upon his grief.’ ‘Ay, Ay! a wife he stole from me, sir--that he _stole_ from me, and murdered!’ repeated the old man, shaking with rage. ‘Gentlemen, I must beg you to clear the room,’ said the landlord at this juncture. ‘The coroner and jury are coming in to view the body.’ His wife, entering at the same time, hustled them all into another apartment, where they sat glaring at each other, until their time came to be called to appear and give evidence. The coroner, a Mr Procter, rather prided himself on his astuteness. He was for ever finding a mountain in a molehill, for he hoped to mount the magisterial chair some day, and his aim was to impress the public with his cleverness and ingenuity. The first witnesses called were the two boatmen Jackson and Barnes, who had found Jenny’s body lying at the bottom of the cliffs. ‘It was five o’clock or nigh upon it, please yer honour,’ commenced the spokesman, ‘as I and my mate here went to the lower beach to haul up our boats.’ ‘What do you call the “lower beach”?’ snapped Mr Procter, who was a sandy-haired man, with a pimply face and red-rimmed eyes, ‘all the beach is lower than the cliffs.’