“Yes, sir—and for a good many miles round.” “Do you know Mr. John Harborough?” “Yes, sir—known him ever since he was a boy.” “Did you see him on Tuesday morning last?” “I did.” “What time?” “Ten minutes past four o’clock.” “Where?” “Near my house, sir.” “Where is your house?” “Up on the downs, sir—Woodland Cottage; about two hundred yards from Markenmore Hollow.” “How came you to see him—or anybody—at that early hour?” “Nothing unusual in that, sir. I often get up at four o’clock—that is when the mornings get light. I keep a lot of fowls, and I get up to attend to them.” “Was it light that morning—Tuesday?” “Light enough, sir.” “Light enough to see—how far?” “Well, sir, when I looked out of my window I could see a lot. The Court here—the village—all that’s in front—and Withersley Beacon on one side and Pole Clump on the other. The morning was a particularly clear one—very fine.” “And you saw Mr. Harborough?” “I did, sir.” “From your window?” “From my window.” “Where was he when you saw him?” “Coming down the hill-side from the direction of Markenmore Hollow, sir. He was walking along the side of a fence.” “How far away from you?” “About a hundred yards.” “Mr. Harborough, until the day before, had been away from Markenmore for seven years. Weren’t you very much surprised to see him there?” “No, sir, I wasn’t.” “Why not?” “Because I’d heard that he’d got home again—heard it the night before. I’d been down to the village and everybody knew he’d got home.” “And you are certain that the man you saw was Mr. Harborough?” “Perfectly certain, sir. I couldn’t be mistaken about that.” “Well, where did he go?” “Down the slope in the direction of his house, sir—Greycloister.” “How far is Greycloister from Woodland Cottage?” “Half a mile, sir.” “Was Mr. Harborough walking quickly when you saw him?” “No, sir—he was just going along at the ordinary pace—sauntering, you might say.” “And you are sure of your time—ten minutes past four o’clock in the morning?” “Certain, sir. I have a very good clock in my bedroom—never gains or loses. I looked at it just before I saw Mr. Harborough.” The barrister nodded to Mrs. Braxfield and sat down, and as no one else rose to ask her any questions she left the box. The Coroner bent over to some officials; while he was whispering with them, Walkinshaw rose and approached the table again. “Mr. Harborough desires to go into that box and give evidence, sir,” he said. “I suggest that now—following upon the evidence you have just heard—is a favourable stage for hearing him.” The Coroner, an elderly man, leant back in his chair, took off his spectacles, and glanced at Walkinshaw and from him to his client. “I suppose that Mr. Harborough fully understands that he is not bound to answer any questions that—answered in a certain fashion—might incriminate him?” he suggested. “Of course, if he wishes to make a statement.”