Mr Bryant looked a little uneasy. "I should say it is more than probable from what I remember of the case; well, you know, the law makes mistakes at times, I will admit." "And juries at inquests make mistakes at times, also," remarked Davis quietly. "This particular jury made a mistake. The dead man was no more Reginald Davis than you are." It was not easy to startle Mr Bryant, he had been through too many strange experiences for that, but he exhibited a mild surprise as he put the question: "And what authority have you for saying that?" "I think you will admit the best. I, who stand before you, am the Reginald Davis who was wanted on that false charge of murder, and branded by that intelligent jury as a suicide." "You can prove this, of course. I mean that you are the real Reginald Davis." "Of course I can, sir; I can bring a dozen witnesses, if necessary, half of whom have known me since a boy." Needless to say that a man of Bryant's experience did not, as a rule, believe one quarter of what he was told. But this man's face--this man's tones--convinced him that he was listening to the truth. He rose from his chair. "Wait here a moment, please, while I hunt up the particulars of this case. As I told you just now, I was not in charge of it, and I should like to refresh my memory as to certain details." He came back after a few moments. "I know it all now, from A to Z. You were identified by a married sister, a Mrs Masters, who gave some details of your career, which did not seem to have been a very healthy one. She was also shown a letter which you were supposed to have written to the Coroner, and she believed it to be in your handwriting. This wants some explanation, I think, Mr Davis, to call you by the name which you say is your right one." "Quite so, sir," answered Reginald composedly. "It certainly requires a good deal of explanation, but if you will listen to me with a little patience, I think I can convince you that the thing is more natural than it appears." The Inspector threw himself back in his chair: "I have no doubt it was your sister who identified you, but how did she come to mistake the actual suicide for you?" And Mr Davis gave the explanation which Bryant might believe or not, or believe in part, as he chose. "My sister Caroline was deeply attached to me. She was in despair when she heard that I was suspected of murder, and was being hunted by the police. As day after day, week after week, went by, and there was no news of my capture, she got it firmly fixed in her mind that I had committed suicide. She hunted the newspapers every morning to find some paragraph that would confirm her fears. And then one day she read about what had happened at Cathcart Square." Mr Bryant was now deeply interested. He leaned forward in his chair, and his attitude betokened his eagerness.