Harborough once more walked to the witness-box. During the reading of the letter he had sat steadily watching the Coroner; his face, grim and impassive, betrayed nothing of whatever it was that he was thinking. It remained equally impassive as he took the oath and faced Coroner, jurymen, and the barrister, who, as the witness came forward, had possessed himself of the letter and now stood holding it in his right hand. Waiting until Harborough had taken the oath, he passed the letter across the table to a policeman and motioned him to hand it to the witness. Amidst a dead silence he asked his first question, sinking his voice to a low, but intensely clear whisper and fixing Harborough with a steady look. “Did you write that letter?” “I did.” “Did you mean what is said in it?” “When I wrote it—yes.” “If you had met Guy Markenmore on the morrow you speak of, would you have shot him like a dog?” “On the morrow—yes, I should.” “Or—a year afterwards?” “I am not so certain of that.” “Or—five years afterwards.” “No—certainly not!” “Did you hear the evidence given by Mrs. Braxfield?” “I did.” “Was it correct?—were you on the hill-side, near her house, at about four o’clock on Tuesday morning last?” “Her evidence was quite correct—I was.” “You have travelled a great deal in wild countries, I believe, Mr. Harborough. Are you in the habit of carrying a revolver?” “Yes, I am.” “Had you a revolver on you when you were out on the downs on Tuesday morning?” “Yes, I had!” The barrister looked round at the jury. Then he suddenly sat down, and, for the second time that morning, helped himself to a pinch of snuff. He turned from his snuff-box to the Coroner. But the Coroner was nodding at Walkinshaw, who presently rose and faced his client. “You have just admitted, Mr. Harborough, that you wrote the letter which has been read. Did you write it under great provocation?” “Under greatest provocation. I firmly believed that Guy Markenmore had prejudiced Miss Leighton against me, in a most despicable fashion.” “Do you believe that now?” “I am not at all sure—one way or the other. I began to be doubtful on the point some years ago.” “Is that why you said just now that if you had met Guy Markenmore five years after writing that letter you would certainly not have carried out your hasty threat?” “Precisely!” “Your anger had cooled down?” “It had become simply non-existent.” “May I take it that when you wrote that letter you were passionately in love with Miss Leighton, as the lady in question was then, and that you were furious because you thought Guy Markenmore had wrecked your chance of winning her?” “You may. That is the fact.” “Finding that you had no chance with the lady you went abroad?” “Yes—cleared out altogether.” “Did you get over your trouble? You know what I mean.” “I certainly got cured of my infatuation for Miss Leighton. I can truthfully say that I was quite heart-whole again within a couple of years.” “Cured?”