"No. Because long ago, when he was in South America, he was subject to such attacks, and his illness could not have had any connection with poor Guy's death, he said." She spoke very gravely, her sad, tearful eyes fixed upon the blue carpet. A slim, pathetic little figure she presented in her deep black, which, however, only served to heighten her wonderful beauty. I questioned her further regarding the events of that fatal night, and convinced myself that Shaw had had no opportunity of returning to Titmarsh Court after he had once bade good-night to poor Nicholson. Any suspicions I had entertained had now been swept away. Her statement, plain and straightforward, showed how solicitous she was of the welfare of the man whom she had always looked upon as her father. She had taken me into her confidence on the first day we had met, and she was certainly not deceiving me. As I stood near, watching her, I became bewildered by the strange circumstances of the death of the man who had promised to come to me, and in confidence make certain revelations. My feelings towards Shaw had been mixed ones. He had been open and straightforward with me, and had told me that he was leading a double life. Asta had treated me as a friend; therefore I had intended to protect their secret from Nicholson as far as possible. Nevertheless, I had been consumed by curiosity to know what he had actually discovered--how far he had ascertained the truth. His meaning words to Cardew on the night of his death showed that, owing to his discovery, he hesitated to ask Asta to become his wife. He loved her most passionately; and when a man loves as he did, then it must be a very serious bar which prevents him throwing prudence to the winds and marrying the girl of his choice. Shaw re-entered the room presently, asking me to stay to luncheon, which I did. But the meal was, alas! a very dismal one. Asta, full of thoughts of her dead lover, hardly spoke a word, while Shaw himself seemed preoccupied and thoughtful. "The Coroner was an idiot," I declared in the course of our discussion of the events of the morning. "He would scarcely allow any mention of poor Guy's cry of horror heard by Cardew." "Ah, my dear Kemball," my friend replied, "in many cases inquests are worse than useless. Coroners so often override the jury and instruct them as to what verdict they should return. In almost every case you will find that the jury, ignorant for the most part, though perfectly honest in their meaning, return a verdict in accordance with the evidence of the local doctor, who, in so many cases, happens to be the man who attends themselves and their families. If they are ill, they call him in and accept his dictum. They do just the same at a Coroner's inquest. They never analyse or weigh the facts for themselves."