fiancé, was doing close to the scene of the murder that night, and how he came to make the remark: 'Hello! is that you, Mat Newton?' when the old man lived nearly half-a-mile away, and really had no cause for being in that particular lane, at that hour of the night in the drizzling rain.
"The inquest, which for want of other accommodation, was held at the local police-station, was, as you may imagine, very largely attended.
"I had read a brief statement of the case in the London papers, and had hurried down to Ayrsham Junction, as I scented a mystery, and knew I should enjoy myself.
"When I got there, the room was already packed, and the medical evidence was being gone through.
"Old man Newton, it appears, had been knocked on the head by a heavily-leaded cane, which was found in the ditch close to the murdered man's body.
"The cane was produced in court; it was as stout as an old-fashioned club, and of terrific weight. The man who wielded it must have been very powerful, for he had only dealt one blow, but that blow had cracked the old man's skull. The cane was undoubtedly of foreign make, for it had a solid silver ferrule at one end, which was not English hall-marked.
"In the opinion of the medical expert, death was the result of the blow, and must have been almost instantaneous.
"The labourers who first came across the body of the murdered man then repeated their story; they had nothing new to add, and their evidence was of no importance. But after that there was some stir in the court. Samuel Holder had been called and sworn to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
"He was a youngish, heavily-built man of about five and thirty, with a nervous, not altogether prepossessing expression of face. Pressed by the coroner, he gave us a few details of old man Newton's earlier history, such as I have already told you.
"'Old Mat,' he explained with some hesitation, 'was for ever wanting to find out who the gentleman was who had promised marriage to Mary four years ago. But Mary was that obstinate, and wouldn't tell him, and this exasperated the old man terribly, so that they had many rows on the subject.'
"'I suppose,' said the coroner tentatively, 'that you never knew who that gentleman was?'
"Samuel Holder seemed to hesitate for a moment. His manner became even more nervous than before; he shifted his position from one foot to the other; finally he said:
"'I don't know as I ought to say, but'
"'I am quite sure that you must tell us everything you know which might throw light upon this extraordinary and terrible murder,' retorted the coroner sternly.
"'Well,' replied Samuel Holder, whilst great beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead, 'Mary never would give up the letters she had had from him, and she would not hear anything about a breach of promise case and £5000 damages; but old Mat 'e often says to me, says 'e, "It's young Mr. Ledbury," 'e says, "she's told me that once. I got it out of 'er, and if I only knew where to find 'im"'
"'You are quite sure of this?' asked the coroner, for Holder had paused and seemed quite horrified at the enormity of what he had said.
"'Yes—yes—your—worship—your honour—,' stammered Holder. ''E's told me 'twas young Mr. Ledbury times out of count, and'
"But Samuel Holder here completely broke down; he seemed unable to speak, his lips twitched convulsively, and the coroner, fearing that the man would faint, had him conveyed into the next room to recover himself, whilst another witness was brought forward.
"This was Michael Pitkin, landlord of the Fernhead Arms, at Ayrsham, who had been on very intimate terms with old Newton during the four years which elapsed after Mary's disappearance. He had a very curious story to tell, which aroused public excitement to its highest pitch.
"It appears that to him also the old man had often confided the fact that it was Mr. Ledbury who had promised to marry Mary, and then had shamefully left her stranded and moneyless in London.
"'But of course,' added the jovial and pleasant-looking landlord of the Fernhead Arms, 'the likes of us down here didn't know what became of Mr. Ledbury after he left "The Limes," until one day I reads in the local paper that Sir John Fernhead's daughter is going to be married to Captain Mervin Ledbury. Of course, your honour, and me, and all of us know Sir John, our squire, down at Fernhead Towers, and I says to old Mat: "It strikes me," I says, "that you've got your man." Sure enough it was the same Mr. Ledbury who rented "The Limes" years ago, who was
