Curiously enough, the sense of justice is inherent in every haphazard gathering of the public. Grant’s soldierly bearing, his calm defiance of hostile opinion, the outspoken threat which he so plainly meant, won instant favor. Someone shouted, “Hear, hear!” and the crowd applauded. From that moment he had little to complain of in the attitude of the community as a whole. There were subtle and dangerous enemies to be fought and conquered, but Steynholme looked on, keen to learn of any new sensation, of course, but placidly content that the final verdict should be left in the hands of the authorities. Chapter VII. “Alarums and Excursions” The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had led up to it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were almost dull. The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on conducting this _cause célèbre_ with as little ostentation as he would have displayed over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin and Hobbs, with eight other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the jurors, and the chemist was promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were ordered out of court; the formalities of “swearing in” the jury and “viewing” the body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant had time to assimilate these details Superintendent Fowler, who marshalled the evidence, called his name. The coroner’s officer tendered him a well-thumbed Bible, while the coroner himself administered the oath. Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it to his lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged Tomlin, and sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say: “What did I tell you? The cheek of him!” Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant his haggard aspect became more noticeable. Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A stranger, whom Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief Constable. There was a strong muster of police, and the representatives of the press completely monopolized the scanty accommodation for the public. To Grant’s relief, Doris Martin was not in attendance. He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish’s corpse. A harmless question by the coroner evoked the first “scene” which set the reporters’ pencils busy. “Did you recognize the body!” inquired Mr. Belcher. “I did.” “Then you can give the jury her name?” Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid with passion. “I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my wife,” he said. He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark Antony have spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man. “Who are you?” demanded the coroner sharply. “Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady,” came the clear-toned reply.