"No. There were finger-marks upon his neck showing that he had been seized, and the poisoned pellet pushed forcibly down his throat. Death must have taken place almost immediately." The Coroner cleared his throat. "Would it be possible to identify the finger-prints, Dr. Verrall?" he asked. For the fraction of a second there was no reply. The doctor hesitated, coughed affectedly, and passed his hand across his mouth. Then: "Hardly," he responded in a cool, clear voice. "Death had taken place fully an hour or so before. They were evidently long, slender fingers, but that was all that could be gathered." "H'mn! Slender, eh? A woman's possibly?" Something like fear came into the doctor's face, and was gone again in a twinkling. "Certainly not!" he snapped back with a sudden show of vehemence. "They were decidedly those of a man. Besides, there were the marks of a heavy seal ring upon the throat." A seal ring? Like a flash the thought telegraphed itself over the long, crowded room. Cleek gave a hasty glance backward over his shoulder, and encountered the eye of Sir Edgar Brenton standing near the doorway, with his pale-faced mother beside him. But other eyes than Cleek's were looking in his direction now. A seal ring? And Sir Edgar's seal had been upon his finger ever since he attained his majority! Every member of the village community recollected his delighted pleasure when that day came round.... And there were marks of a seal ring upon the murdered man's throat. "And where was the revolver found?" the Coroner inquired. "Close by the dead man's side. He had been dead quite a long time before he was shot, and rigour mortis was already setting in. Whoever fired the shot sent it into a dead man's breast." "Quite so.... And I understand that this is the revolver in question." He held up a little dark metal object that caught the light in one vivid bar along its slim barrel. Dr. Verrall bowed his head. "That is so," he said, calmly. "And do you know to whom it belongs?" "I cannot say." There was a hushed silence fraught with a sort of stalking terror that sent every heart beating and every pulse drumming with the awful thought of what _might_ be. Then: "That will do for the present, Dr. Verrall. Thank you very much," came in the same clear tones and the crowd heaved a sigh of relief. Who would be the next to be called? The next to be called proved to be no less a person than Mr. Maverick Narkom himself, who in his concise fashion related for the edification of all present how he and his colleague, Mr. George Headland, of Scotland Yard, had together discovered the body. "Were there any signs of a struggle?" asked the Coroner, quietly, with a little added show of respect for the dignity of his witness's position. "Yes," responded Mr. Narkom, excitedly. "Decidedly there were. That was evidenced by the scrap of torn lace found in the dead man's hand, and----"