ade out two days before the prisoner met his death. The
signature is yours?"

Stark bowed. His eyes sought Nigel's and rested upon the pale, lined face
with every appearance of concern. Then he looked back at the coroner.

"Dacre Wynne lent me that money two days before he came down to visit
Merriton. No one knew of it, except he and I. We had never been good
friends--in fact, I believe he hated me. My mother had been--well, kind
to him in the old days, and I suppose he hadn't forgotten it. Anyhow,
there was family difficulty. My--my pater left some considerable debts
which we found we were obliged to face. There was a woman--oh, I needn't
go into these family things, in a place like this, need I?... Well, if I
must--I must. But it's a loathsome job at best.... There was a woman whom
my father--kept. When he died he left her two thousand pounds in his
will, and he hadn't two thousand pounds to leave when his debts were
cleared up. We--we had to face things. Paid everything off, and all that,
and then, at the last gasp, that woman came and claimed the money. The
lawyer said she was within her rights, we'd have to fork out. And I
couldn't lay my hands upon the amount just then, because it had taken
pretty nearly all we had to clear the debts off."

"So you borrowed from Mr. Wynne?"

"Yes, I borrowed from Dacre Wynne. I'd sooner have cut my right hand off
than have done it, but I knew Merriton was going to be married, and I
wouldn't saddle him with my bills. Don't look at me like that, Nigel, old
chap, you know I _couldn't_! Tony West has only enough for himself, and I
didn't want to go to loan sharks. So the mater suggested Dacre Wynne. I
went to him, in her name, and ate the dust. It was beastly--but he
promised to stump up. And he did. I'm working now on a paper, to try
and pay as much off as I can, and--a cousin is keeping the mater until
I can look after her myself. We've taken a little place out Chelsea way.
That's all."

"H'm. And you can show proof of this, if the jury requires it?" put in
the coroner, at this juncture.

"I can--here and now." He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out
a sheaf of papers, tossing them in front of the coroner, who, after
a glance at their contents, seemed to be satisfied that they gave the
answer he sought.

"Thank you.... And you have no revolver, Mr. Stark, even if you had
reason for killing Mr. Wynne?"

Stark gave a little start of surprise.

"Reason for _killing_