_Witness_ (somewhat ruffled).--"Meaning the dead one, I presume, Mr. Carr. Certainly, Mr. Carr; I was coming to that. He--meaning the dead one--came here two days ago by the coach from Winchester. There is, gentlemen, no name on his bag--there is no name on his linen--no letters, no cards in his pockets--not even initials, gentlemen, to prevent his clothes being stolen at the wash. He never mentioned his name, Mr. Carr. I was going to ask him next morning, but he was dead, and therefore, gentlemen, not in a position to speak. As far as I am concerned, Mr. Carr, the dead one has never been christened. The mystery--meaning the dead one--has no name that I ever heard of, and was spoken of by me and my daughter (who may know more than her father) as the gentleman in No. 37. I only spoke to the dead one twice, Mr. Carr and gentlemen; once when I arranged about terms--thirty shillings a week, gentlemen, not including wine--and again when I asked him if he had enjoyed his dinner--soup, fish, fowl, and pudding. Gentlemen, he had enjoyed his dinner." _A Juryman_ (hungry-looking, evidently thinking of the dinner).--"Was he cheerful, Mr. Chickles?" _Witness_.--"Jocund, sir, if I may use the term. Merry as a lark." Facetious juryman suggests wine. _Witness_ (with mournful dignity).--"No, sir! Pardon me, Mr. Specks, he had no wine while he was in this house. His explanation was a simple one, gentlemen--wine did not agree with his pills--tonic pills, Mr. Carr--one to be taken before bedtime every night." _Coroner_ (with the air of having found something).--"Pills, eh? Did he look ill?" _Witness_.--"Not exactly ill, Mr. Carr; not exactly well, gentlemen. Betwixt and between. Weak, sir. His legs shook, his hands trembled, and when a door banged he jumped, gentlemen--jumped!" _A Juryman_.--"Then I presume he was taking tonic pills for his constitution?" _Witness_.--"Well, yes, Mr. Polder, yes, sir. There is the box of pills--tonic pills, as he--meaning the dead one--told me. Found in his room, gentlemen--on the chest of drawers--after his death." Inspection of pills by jury. Great curiosity evinced when pills (eight in number) appeared to be like any other pills. The London detective, however, secured the pill-box after inspection, and sat with it in his hand thinking deeply. Mr. Chickles, having given all his evidence, retired, with the full consciousness that he had given it in a masterly fashion; and his daughter, Miss Molly Chickles, plump, pretty, and a trifle coquettish, was duly sworn. At first she was rather bashful, but having found her tongue--a task of little difficulty for this rustic daughter of Eve--told all she knew with many sidelong glances and confused blushes--feminine arts not quite thrown away on the jury, although they were to a man married and done for. Said Molly, in answer to the Coroner: