The gentlemen of the jury, who surely knew their duties, would be told how this man, deserting his home, had fled to London; how he had come back, in the dead of night, and had been seen about the village; how a most intelligent officer—a gentleman from Scotland Yard, gentlemen—had endeavoured to capture him; how he had again fled to London. They would be told, by a former associate of this man—now very repentant of his connection with him—of a sort of semi-confession made by this man to him. More than all, they would hear that a spade had been discovered near the body, which had evidently been used in a hurried attempt to dig a grave for the murdered girl (the crowd swayed again, like an angry sea and one woman shrieked out something unintelligible against the man who stood so calmly through it all)—and that spade would be traced as having come from the residence of the man now before them. While admitting, gentlemen, that all this evidence was purely circumstantial, the Coroner must beg them not to cast it lightly aside on that account, but to hear the witnesses with patience. And so sat down, having spun his rope to a tolerable length and strength. Marshalled by Tokely, the first witnesses were already shuffling to their places, when an interruption came from among the crowd; and a young man thrust himself forward, and made straight for the Coroner. He was a bright-faced fellow, with a cool and gentlemanly bearing, and he gave a quick nod to Philip as he pressed forward. “One moment, Mr. Coroner,” he said. “Mr. Chater here is an old friend of mine—knew him at Oxford. I’m a barrister; and I claim the right to represent Mr. Chater at these proceedings. I should like to point out to you, Mr. Coroner”—still with the same engaging frankness, and the same cheery smile—“that my friend is placed in a very awkward position, and has against him, in charge of the case, a very able representative of the law”—a bow here for the gratified Inspector—“from Scotland Yard. I merely propose to watch the case on behalf of my friend, and to put such questions as I may deem necessary, and as you, Mr. Coroner, may see fit, in the exercise of a wise discretion, to allow.” Here the young gentleman bowed all round again, with another cheery smile, and sat down near the Coroner, after having made a decidedly good impression. Philip Chater broke the silence which seemed to hang so heavily about him, and addressed the Coroner. “I am greatly obliged,” he said, “for my friend’s kindly offer; but I would rather decline it. Whatever case there is against me must go on its merits; I desire nothing more.” Before the Coroner, or any one else, could speak, the young gentleman came darting out of his chair, and had Philip by the button-hole—drawing him aside a little, and impressing his points upon him in an eager whisper.