nd then tossed it over to the reporters for copying, was a hard
trial, but Marcus had resolved upon meeting all the troubles of the
case halfway.]

The coroner here produced the second anonymous letter, which had been
found on the person of the deceased, showed it to Marcus for
identification, and then threw it to the reporters, as one would throw a
choice bone to a cage full of hungry animals.

Marcus explained that he had made every effort to discover the
authorship of the letters, without success; whereupon the coroner shut
his eyes knowingly, rolled his quid from right to left, and said that he
was "investigatin' 'em" himself.

QUESTION BY A JUROR. "Wos the letters postpaid?"

ANSWER. "They were."

The juror took the reply into his profoundest consideration.

Marcus, resuming, stated that, on his last visit--the night of the
supposed murder--he had found Mr. Minford very much disturbed in mind by
the unjust suspicions aroused by these letters. He had accused witness
of the vile intentions referred to in them. Witness had denied the
imputations with emphasis. The discussion was becoming quite warm, when
the daughter of the deceased entered the room, and, being worn out with
watching by the side of a sick friend, retired to bed in the adjoining
chamber. The conversation, broken off by her entrance, was then
continued, much in the same vein. Mr. Minford was in a distressing state
of nervous excitement that evening, and talked loud and wild. Witness
made an effort to keep his temper, and did so, though the peculiar
injustice of the accusations were enough to arouse any man's anger. He
reserved his show of wrath for the author of the anonymous letters, if
he could ever catch him. He would not say that he had not replied to the
deceased with some warmth of manner. But as to threatening him, or
hurting one hair of his head, witness had not done it--so help him God!

QUESTION BY A JUROR. "Was the key of the door in the keyhole that
night?"

ANSWER. "I don't know."

COMMENT BY FACETIOUS JUROR. "Be me sowl, I thinks that whishkay had more
to do with it than the doorkay. Don't you, Harry?"

CORONER. "Bully for you!"

Clothing himself again with dignity, the coroner asked:

"Der yer mean to say, Mr. Wilkingson, that yer didn't kill this man?
Remember, now, yer on yer oath!"

The horrible bluntness of the question nearly felled Marcus to the
floor. He placed his hand on his brow, now pale with the acutest
anguis