came from Dawson City or the neighbourhood about ten years ago, and that
he crossed the border in consequence of a mysterious affair--which has
never been cleared up--in which a rich German gentleman, Baron von
Aeschenbach, disappeared, and has not been heard of since. Of that,
however, we have no proof, and we cannot supply the court with any
information as to the man's real origin and early history. But we are
prepared to swear that the body we have seen this morning is that of
Alexander McEwen, who for some years past has been well known to us, now
in one camp, now in another, of the Comstock district."

The American police officer resumed his seat. George Anderson, who was
to the right of the coroner, had sat, all through this witness's
evidence, bending forward, his eyes on the ground, his hands clasped
between his knees. There was something in the rigidity of his attitude,
which gradually compelled the attention of the onlookers, as though the
perception gained ground that here--in that stillness--those bowed
shoulders--lay the real interest of this sordid outrage, which had so
affronted the pride of Canada's great railway.

The coroner rose. He briefly expressed the thanks of the court to the
Nevada State authorities for having so promptly supplied the information
in their possession in regard to this man McEwen. He would now ask Mr.
George Anderson, of the C.P.R., whether he could in any way assist the
court in this investigation. An empty envelope, fully addressed to Mr.
George Anderson, Ginnell's Boarding House, Laggan, Alberta, had,
strangely enough, been found in McEwen's pocket. Could Mr. Anderson
throw any light upon the matter?

Anderson stood up as the coroner handed him the envelope. He took it,
looked at it, and slowly put it down on the table before him. He was
perfectly composed, but there was that in his aspect which instantly
hushed all sounds in the crowded room, and drew the eyes of everybody in
it upon him. The Kamloops doctor looked at him from a distance with a
sudden twitching smile--the smile of a reticent man in whom strong
feeling must somehow find a physical expression. Dixon, the young
Superintendent, bent forward eagerly. At the back of the room a group of
Japanese railway workers, with their round, yellow faces and half-opened
eyes stared impassively at the tall figure of the fair-haired Canadian;
and through windows and doors, thrown open to the heat, shimmered lake
and forest, the