Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters’ table. She remembered suddenly that she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth’s bag. And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a single reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that last remark of Mr. Cannot. In fact, not one of them had heard it. Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. And then silence did fall on the court. “One word more,” he said in a quavering voice. “May I ask to be accommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings? I see there is some room left on the witnesses’ bench.” And, without waiting for permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down. Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. Her friend, the inspector, was bending over her. “Perhaps you’d like to come along now,” he said urgently.—“I don’t suppose you want to hear the medical evidence. It’s always painful for a female to hear that. And there’ll be an awful rush when the inquest’s over. I could get you away quietly now.” She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followed him obediently. Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty, room downstairs. “I’ll let you out the back way,” he said. “I expect you’re tired, ma’am, and will like to get home to a cup o’ tea.” “I don’t know how to thank you!” There were tears in her eyes. She was trembling with excitement and emotion. “You _have_ been good to me.” “Oh, that’s nothing,” he said a little awkwardly. “I expect you went though a pretty bad time, didn’t you?” “Will they be having that old gentleman again?” she spoke in a whisper, and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look. “Good Lord, no! Crazy old fool! We’re troubled with a lot of those sort of people, you know, ma’am, and they often do have funny names, too. You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City, or what not; then they retires when they gets about sixty, and they’re fit to hang themselves with dulness. Why, there’s hundreds of lunies of the sort to be met in London. You can’t go about at night and not meet ’em. Plenty of ’em!” “Then you don’t think there was anything in what he said?” she ventured. “In what that old gent said? Goodness—no!” he laughed good-naturedly. “But I’ll tell you what I _do_ think. If it wasn’t for the time that had gone by, I should believe that the second witness _had_ seen that crafty devil—” he lowered his voice. “But, there, Dr. Gaunt declares most positively—so did two other medical gentlemen—that the poor creatures had been dead hours when they was found. Medical gentlemen are always very positive about their evidence. They have to be—otherwise who’d believe ’em? If we’d time I could tell you of a case in which—well, ’twas all because of Dr. Gaunt that the murderer escaped. We all knew perfectly well the man we caught did it, but he was able to prove an alibi as to the time Dr. Gaunt _said_ the poor soul was killed.” CHAPTER XX.