. Told
it with fire and spirit; and even as the words fell from his lips, felt
the sudden chill of disbelief that seemed to grip the room in its cold
hand. Not a sound broke the recital. He had been given a fair hearing, at
all events, though in that community of hard-headed, unimaginative men
there was not one that believed him--save those few who already knew the
story to be true.

The coroner stopped fitting his fingers together as the firm voice
faltered and was finally silent, and shot a glance at Merriton from under
his shaggy brows.

"And you expect us to believe that story, Sir Nigel; knowing what we do
about the bad blood between you and the dead man, and having here the
evidence of our own eyes in this revolver bullet?"

"I have told the truth. I can do no more."

"No man can," responded the coroner, gravely, "but it is that which I
must admit I query. The story is so far-fetched, so utterly impossible
for a rationally minded being--"

"But you must admit that he was not a rationally minded being that
night!" broke in a quick voice from across the room, and everyone turned
to look into Doctor Bartholomew's seamed, anxious face. "Under the
influence of drink and that devil incarnate, Dacre Wynne, a man couldn't
be answerable for--"

"Silence in the Court!" rapped out the coroner, and the good doctor was
forced to obey.

Then the inquiry went on. The prisoner was told to stand down, amid a
chorus of protesting voices, for, though the story was disbelieved,
everyone who had come in contact with Merriton had formed an instant
liking for him. No one wished to see him condemned as guilty--save those
few who seemed determined to send him to the gallows.

Three or four possible witnesses were called, but nothing of any
importance was gleaned from them; then Borkins was summoned to the table.
As he pushed past 'Toinette's chair from the knot of villagers which
surrounded him, his face was white, and his lips compressed. He took his
stand in front of the jury and prepared to answer the questions which
were put to him by the coroner. That man's method seemed to have changed
since his questioning of Sir Nigel and he flung out his queries like a
rapid-fire gun.

Borkins came through the ordeal fairly well, all things considered.
He told his story of what he had said he had seen that night, in a
comparatively steady voice, though he was of the type that is addicted
to nervousness when appearing before people.