"You take care what you're saying," returned Sir Edgar in a passion of white heat. "You dare to suggest that you've given her presents." The Coroner's upraised hand silenced him. "If you please," he began, "permit Mr. Dall to continue with his evidence without interruption. This is hardly the time or the place, Sir Edgar, for the airing of one's particular--er--differences. You say the scarf belongs to Lady Margaret Cheyne, Mr. Dall?" "I do. For I myself gave it to her. I met her on the journey over from Boulogne to Folkestone, and I happened to show the scarf to her. She admired it, and on the impulse of the moment I pressed her to accept it. It was one of a pair." Of a pair, eh? So there was the loophole of escape for Lady Margaret after all. Cleek's head went up. The coroner leant a little forward in his seat and stared up into the Hindoo's impassive countenance. "And where, may I ask, is the other?" he inquired. The blow fell unexpectedly, but with more force in consequence. For even as Gunga Dall commenced to speak there followed a little commotion at the back of the room. Someone had fainted, there was a hushed call for smelling salts and brandy. "The other scarf is, or was," said the Hindoo, quietly, "in the possession of Lady Brenton, to whom I gave it last week!" It was like a thunderbolt in the quiet room. Cleek snatched up his hat and ran over to where Mr. Narkom stood. "You've got to close this inquiry before it goes any further," he whispered, hurriedly. "We've got to make more investigations before that nigger's assertion is allowed to carry any weight with the evidence. We've got to close this inquiry at once, my friend!" Mr. Narkom nodded, then crossed over to the Coroner and spoke to him in a low, hurried voice. That gentleman seemed to acquiesce in whatever statement the Superintendent made, and shortly afterward declared the case postponed. Slowly the people began to file out of the room in twos and threes, but even as they did so came the sound of a terrible moaning, the sound that Cleek had heard so many times before, but from whence it issued, was impossible to tell. Long drawn out and wailing as a dog's death-howl, it floated over the room, striking fear into every heart by its very ghastliness. What was it? What _could it be_? Horrified, the listeners looked at one another in blank dismay. Even Mr. Narkom's usually ruddy countenance had undergone a change as the sound came to his ears. Supernatural or not it acted like a charm, for in another minute the room was cleared and Cleek, Mr. Narkom and the Coroner stood alone. "Strange thing, isn't it?" said that gentleman, as he fetched his hat and moved over toward the door in the act of following upon the heels of his jury-men. Mr. Narkom nodded. "Very. Coming along, Headland?" "No, not just for a moment or two. I want to look round for myself if you don't mind. Just an odd fancy, don't you know! But don't wait for me, Mr. Narkom. I'll see you later on."