"Charles Spills, sir, sergeant of the police in Jarlchester. Jim Bulkins reported death of deceased. Came here, saw body lying in bed. Clothes drawn up to chin. In my opinion, deceased died in his sleep. Examined bag of deceased. Contained linen (not marked), suit of clothes (not marked), toilet utensils of the usual kind. Drawing block and some lead pencils (much used)." _Coroner_ (prompted by London detective).--"Were there any drawings?" _Witness_.--"No, sir." _Coroner_.--"No sketches or faces on the block?" _Witness_.--"No, sir! Clothes worn by deceased--dark blue serge suit, double-breasted." _Coroner_.--"Any name on the clothes?" _Witness_.--"No, sir! Tag used to hang up coat, on which tailor's name generally placed, torn off. Searched pockets; found penknife, loose silver (twelve shillings and sixpence), and box of pills laid before the jury. Silver watch on dressing-table--silver chain attached--silver sovereign purse containing six sovereigns. Nothing else." _Coroner_.--"Nothing likely to lead to the name of deceased?" _Witness_.--"Absolutely nothing, sir. Searched, but found no name. Inquired--discovered no name. Case puzzled me, so wired to London for detective--Mr. Fanks--now sitting on your left." Sergeant Spills having thus discharged his duty, saluted in a wooden fashion, and substituting Joe Staggers, coachman, for himself, took up a rigid attitude beside him, like a toy figure in a Noah's ark. Evidence of Joe Staggers. Horsey gentleman, large, red, and fat; smothered voice, suggestive of drink; a god on the box-seat behind four horses, but a mere mortal given to drink when on the ground. "Joseph Staggers, sur. 'Ees, sur! Druv the coaach fro Winchester t' Jarlchest'r these ten year an' more. Two days ago--it were Toosd'y, cos t' bay 'oss cast a shoe--I were waitin' at station, an' gen'man--the corpus--come up t' me, an' ses 'e, 'Jarlchest'r?' inquiring like. ''Ees, sur,' ses I, an' up 'e gits an' off we goes. 'E sat aside me an' talked of plaace. 'Ees, sur. Ses 'e: 'This are foine arter Lunnon." _Coroner_.--"Oh, did he say he had come from London?" _Witness_ (doggedly).--"'E ses what I sed afore, sur. Talked foine, sur; but didn't knaw a 'oss fro' a cow." Mr. Staggers' evidence unanimously pronounced by jury to be worse than useless, an opinion not shared by Mr. Fanks (of London, detective), who scratched down something in a secretive little book with a vicious little pencil. _Coroner_.--"Call Dr. Drewey." A most important witness, Dr. Drewey, he having made a post-mortem examination of the body, and the jury, hitherto somewhat languid, now wake up, Mr. Fanks turns over a new page in his secretive little book, and Dr. Drewey, bland, gentlemanlike, in a suit of sober black, and gravely smiling (professional smile), gives his opinion of things with great unction.