"There are three others, almost exactly similar," the inspector went on, producing them carefully from an envelope. "They are numbered '103 F,' '91 I,' and '321 G.'" "Curious," remarked the coroner, taking them. "Very curious indeed. They are all signed across, yet only half the card is preserved. They have some secret significance without a doubt." He glanced across at the stranger, but the face of the latter betrayed no sign of further interest. Indeed, just at that moment, when the whole court was on the tenterhooks of curiosity he looked as though bored by the entire procedure. "The deceased carried a Smith-Wesson hammerless revolver fully loaded," the officer added; "but he was so suddenly attacked, it seems, that he had no time to draw it." The detectives from Norwich who had the case in hand were not called to give evidence, for obvious reasons, but Dr. Dennan, of North Walsham, whom the police called, a short, white-haired, business-like little man, stepped forward, was sworn, and deposed that when he saw the body at Gordon's Farm, deceased had been dead nearly two hours. "He was struck in the throat by some thin, sharp instrument--a deep wound. The artery was severed, and death must have occurred within a few minutes," he said. "Probably deceased could not speak. He certainly could not have uttered a cry. The blade of the instrument was, I should judge, only about half an inch wide, extremely keen, and tapered to a fine point. Whoever struck the blow was, I am inclined to think, possessed of some surgical knowledge. With Doctor Taylor, I made a post-mortem yesterday and found everything normal. There were some scratches and abrasions on the hands and face, but those were no doubt due to the deceased having been flung into the brambles." Again the grey-faced stranger craned his thin neck, listening to every word as it fell from the doctor's lips. And again the coroner noticed him--and wondered. CHAPTER IV. DESCRIBES A TORN CARD. "The Norfolk Mystery," as it was termed by the sensational journalists and Press-photographers, was but a nine days' wonder, as, indeed, is every modern murder mystery. It provided material for the sensational section of the Press for a full week; a hundred theories were advanced, and the police started out upon a dozen or more false scents, but all to no purpose. Therefore the public curiosity quickly died down, and within ten days or so the affair was forgotten amid the hundred and one other "sensations" of crime and politics, of war rumours, and financial booms, which hourly follow upon each other's heels and which combine to make up the strenuous unrest of our daily life. And so was the fatal accident to the naval aviator quickly forgotten by the public.