nd concealed were produced by the police, and, of course,
created a certain amount of interest. But to the readers of newspapers
the poisoning of a costermonger at Shadwell is of little interest as
compared with a similar catastrophe in that quarter of London vaguely
known as "the West End." The letters were suspicious, and both coroner
and jury accepted them as evidence that Lane was engaged upon an
elaborate scheme of blackmail.

"Who is this Mary Courtenay, who writes to him from Neneford?"
inquired the coroner of the inspector.

"Well, sir," the latter responded, "the writer herself is dead. She
was found drowned a few days ago near her home under suspicious
circumstances."

Then the reporters commenced to realize that something extraordinary
was underlying the inquiry.

"Ah!" remarked the coroner, one of the most acute officials of his
class. "Then, in face of this, her letter seems to be more than
curious. For aught we know the tragedy at Neneford may have been
wilful murder; and we have now the suicide of the assassin?"

"That, sir, is the police theory," replied the inspector.

"Police theory be hanged!" ejaculated Ambler, almost loud enough to be
heard. "The police know nothing of the case, and will never learn
anything. If the jury are content to accept such an explanation, and
brand poor Lane as a murderer, they must be allowed to do so."

I knew Jevons held coroners' juries in the most supreme contempt;
sometimes rather unreasonably so, I thought.

"Well," the coroner said, "this is certainly remarkable evidence," and
he turned the dead woman's letter over in his hand. "It is quite plain
that the deceased approached the lady ostensibly to give her warning
of some danger, but really to blackmail her; for what reason does not
at present appear. He may have feared her threat to give information
to the police; hence his crime, and subsequent suicide."

"Listen!" exclaimed Jevons in my ear. "They are actually trying the
dead man for a crime he could not possibly have committed! They've got
hold of the wrong end of the stick, as usual. Why don't they give a
verdict of suicide and have done with it. We can't afford to waste a
whole day explaining theories to a set of uneducated gentlemen of the
Whitechapel Road. The English law is utterly ridiculous where
coroners' juries are concerned."

The coroner heard his whispering, and looked towards us severely.

"We have not had sufficient time to investigate