‘At first I thought she must have done so, but I searched the beach and the town, and, finally, the cliffs, without finding any trace of her.’ ‘And then you returned to the hotel! At what time might that have been?’ ‘I am not sure. At about five, or half-past, I think.’ ‘With the exception, then, of a run home for a few minutes, you were absent from the Castle Warden from half-past eleven to half-past five--six hours? And all that time you were bathing or looking for your wife?’ ‘I have already told you so,’ answered Frederick. ‘Who saw you during that time, Mr Walcheren? What witnesses can you bring forward to testify that it was spent as you tell us?’ ‘Witnesses!’ reiterated Frederick, with a stare. ‘How can I bring witnesses from a place where I am utterly unknown? I have never been in Dover to stay a night before now. Nobody in the town knows me. I have not spoken to an individual, excepting a young man who accosted me whilst swimming, and a girl whom I asked if she had seen--had seen--my--my--wife.’ ‘That is unfortunate,’ remarked the coroner, drily. ‘Now, Mr Walcheren, am I right in supposing that your marriage was not conducted very regularly--that it was undertaken, in fact, entirely against, and in opposition to, the wishes of the parents of the deceased?’ ‘I don’t know what the devil business that is of yours!’ exclaimed Frederick, roused from his lethargic condition by the impertinence of the question. ‘Everything is my business, sir, in the pursuit of my duty, and, if you address me again in that manner, I shall commit you for contempt of court. I understand, further, that not only was your marriage with the deceased an irregular one, but that you took a false oath in order to procure a licence for it, by stating the deceased to be of age, when she wanted a year of that time.’ ‘I did, if you will have it so!’ said the young man, sullenly. ‘Are you aware, Mr Walcheren, that in consequence of your behaviour in the matter, your father-in-law, Mr Crampton, altered his will and cut his daughter’s name out of it?’ ‘Of course I knew it.’ ‘Who told you of it?’ ‘I forget. My wife, I suppose!’ ‘Mr Crampton never informed you of the fact himself?’ ‘Not that I remember.’ ‘You did not hear of it, in fact, until after your unfortunate marriage had taken place beyond recall. Can you deny it, sir?’ ‘I don’t know if I did or did not. I cannot remember. My head is so dazed by the events that have taken place since that I cannot trust my memory in anything.’ ‘Perhaps I can jog it for you. You took a false oath in order to enable you to marry the deceased, whom you believed to be an heiress, and it was not until you had brought her down here that you found out your mistake. Your wife told you of the fact, and you probably had a few words on the matter, before you left her so suddenly in the hotel.’