“That,” observed the Coroner, with a glance at the jury, “is about an hour and a half before sunrise. Now, Grimsdale, how could you see at that time of the early morning?” “Well, sir, it was a clear night, there was a bit of a moon, and altogether it was a good night for seeing—grey light, you might term it. I could see our stables on the other side of the road clear enough, and the trees round about there, and the road. And I saw those three gentlemen—their figures, I mean—plainly.” “What were they doing?” “Walking slowly away from the Sceptre up the road towards Greycloister and Mitbourne, sir.” “Could you distinguish them, one from the other?” “Yes, sir. I knew which was Mr. Guy, and which was the first man who came to the Sceptre. Mr. Guy was walking in the middle; the gentleman who came at nine o’clock was on his left-hand side; the third man was on his right.” “What sort of man was he?” “A tall man, sir—a good six foot.” “Did you recognize his figure as that of anybody belonging to this neighbourhood?” For the first time since his appearance in the witness-box, Grimsdale began to show signs of hesitation. He paused, shaking his head. “Well, sir, you’ll bear in mind, if you please, that it was not as light as it might have been,” he answered. “It’s difficult, at that time of morning.” “Did you form any idea at the time as to who the man was?” enquired the Coroner. “Well, I certainly did have a notion—a sort of thought,” admitted Grimsdale. “What was it?” Grimsdale hesitated again. “It was only a notion,” he said at last. “Just—just the sort of thing that comes into one’s mind, like. I’d rather not say!” “I’m afraid you must say, Grimsdale. You evidently, on seeing him, had some notion as to the identity of the third man. Now, what was it?” “Well, sir, if I must, I must! I wondered—only wondered, mind you, gentlemen—if it wasn’t Mr. Harborough.” “You wondered if the third man, the man walking on Guy Markenmore’s right hand up the road was not Mr. John Harborough. You thought you recognized his figure?” “Yes, sir. But it was only because the man was very tall, had just about Mr. Harborough’s build, and because the three of ’em were going in the direction of Greycloister, Mr. Harborough’s house, and then you see, sir, I’d heard that Mr. Harborough was home again, and—well, maybe I’d got him in mind a bit. I—I shouldn’t like to let it go out that I say it was Mr. Harborough, because I don’t!” “You couldn’t swear that the third man was Mr. Harborough?” “No, sir—certainly I could not!” “But he was a man of just about Mr. Harborough’s height, build, and personal appearance?” “Just that, sir.” “Well, about the first man—the man who had taken a room at the Sceptre. What time did he come back there, after this?” “He never did come back, sir!” “What!—never came back at all?”