article that came to hand. He carried them in his side pocket, ready for use."
"Could you identify the missing knapsack if you saw it?"
"Certainly. It was a brown leather knapsack, having the corners bound with brass—a very unusual thing. The strap had been broken and mended with twine."
"You have stated that the snow on the road and also on the plateau showed no footprints of a second person; you are absolutely sure of this?"
"I am absolutely sure."
The witness then stood down. John Rhys and William Evans, quarrymen, the two men who had come to the assistance of Mr. Staymer, were then called, and confirmed his evidence in every particular, but were unable to throw any new light upon the subject.
Sergeant Wallis, who had been summoned to the scene of the tragedy, was the next witness. He deposed as follows:—
"On receiving notice of the case, I and an assistant rode with all speed to the plateau, where the body of the deceased had been found and where it was still lying. I made a most careful investigation both of the body and of the plateau, and afterwards descended to the roadway, which I also thoroughly examined. I found the marks of a struggle in the snow, as described by the previous witnesses. This is, in my opinion, clearly a case of foul play—of robbery and murder. I infer this from the absence of the knapsack. I am aware, of course, that the money, the watch, and the ring were left. I cannot entirely account for this at present, but I have no doubt of doing so shortly."
"Can you account for the absence of footprints? "
"No."
"Nor for the extraordinary situation in which the body was found?"
"No."
"In short, the police are entirely at fault?"
"Not at all. On the contrary, we have every prospect of arresting the criminal within a very few days."
The Coroner expressed a hope that this would be the case, but hardly seemed to share the sergeant's confidence. He then proceeded to address the jury.
"Gentlemen, I have no hesitation in saying that this is the most remarkable case which I have ever been engaged in investigating. There are three or four points in it which seem to be absolutely unaccountable: the absence of footprints in the snow, the sudden transference of the victim by some mysterious means from the roadway to the plateau sixty feet above, the handkerchief found in the ravine, and the absence of the knapsack, coupled with the safety of the money, watch, and rings. These circumstances are beyond the scope of my experience, which has been a tolerably long one—a tolerably long one, gentlemen. There can, however, be no doubt that a foul crime has been committed."
At this stage the Coroner's remarks were interrupted by a commotion in the crowd, occasioned by the sudden and violent entrance of a person into the room. The newcomer, a short, middle-aged, grizzled man, who carried a brown-paper parcel under his arm, thrust the spectators excitedly aside, and darted into the midst of the apartment.
The Coroner (angrily): "What do you want, sir? This conduct is most unseemly."
The man took the parcel from under his arm, stripped off the paper covering, and displayed before the eyes of the spectators a brown leather knapsack, brass bound at the corners, and having the strap mended with a piece of twine. At this unexpected sight there was a movement in the crowd, which was as much of horror as of wonder. Sergeant Wallis and Mr. Lewis Staymer took a step forward, while both exclaimed at the same instant—"The missing knapsack!"
"I desire," said the man, quietly, "to give evidence in the case of Mr. Carboyne."
The Coroner: "What do you know of the matter?"
"I know everything."
"As an eye-witness?"
"As an eye-witness."
"You were present when Mr. Carboyne met his death?"
"I was present; nay, more I was the cause of it." (Sensation.)
"You wish to make a statement?"
"Yes."
"On oath?"
"Yes."
The witness then took the oath, and at once proceeded to address the Court. His speech was uttered slowly, clearly, and distinctly, and is given here verbatim:—
"My name is James Milford; I am by profession an aeronaut—it is just possible that you may have heard of me. Last Friday—the day on which this sad occurrence happened—I made a private ascent from Chester. I intended to make a journey of a mile or two at most, but when I attempted to descend I found that the escape-valve had
