ecurely on himself. Presently he was asked
whether he wished to make a statement, and again all present were
struck by his demeanour. His face was very pale, and his eyes had a
peculiar light in them, but otherwise he showed no excitement or fear.
His voice was perfectly steady; his lips did not quiver; his hands did
not tremble. The evidence against him was as black as night. Indeed,
no one seemed to have any doubt as to the finding of the jury--but he
did nothing to clear himself. It is true, he declared emphatically
that he had no hand in killing the deceased man; he also said that when
he had last seen the knife it was lying on his office desk, but he made
no endeavour to show how it might have been taken away without his
knowledge.

He was also just as reticent about his whereabouts on the night of the
murder. During the examination of the other witnesses, especially that
of his partner, he had seemed perturbed and anxious, but directly that
was over he became calm and almost indifferent.

If there was one ray of light in the whole of the ghastly business, it
was that Mary Bolitho's name had never been mentioned. The truth was,
no one knew of his dreams concerning her. No one fancied that he had
ever given her a thought. It was generally believed in the town that
she was to become the wife of young Edward Wilson, but the thought that
the deceased man had a rival in Paul was outside the realm of their
calculation. Consequently, the words which he had dreaded were never
spoken.

The inquest came to an end presently, and the jury found what had been
a foregone conclusion throughout the day. Their verdict was that the
deceased man had been wilfully murdered, and that the murderer was Paul
Stepaside.

Everyone felt and knew that this was but another preliminary step;
everyone knew that the trial was yet to be held, and yet no one doubted
but that this, as far as Paul Stepaside was concerned, was another step
towards the gallows. Many had hoped with a great hope that some
evidence would be adduced whereby a shadow of suspicion might be thrown
on someone else, but none was forthcoming. Every hand seemed to point
to Paul Stepaside. When the jury gave their verdict, even although all
knew it was not final, a great sobbing sigh was heard. The air seemed
to be charged with calamity. The faces of many were white, and tears
flowed from the eyes of many unused to weeping.

"Thou'st hanged tha partner," said