“That it wos, Harry,” returned the assistant foreman of the Bully Boys.  “If Patching can do that sort o’ thing, he’ll pass.”

Patching fixed looks of professional indignation on the coroner and the assistant foreman, and sat down gloomily, amid the suppressed laughter of the irreverent reporters.

The coroner then looked at his watch, and, finding that the time was within half an hour of dinner, said that the inquest would be adjourned till the following morning, at ten o’clock.

“But, your Honor,” said Overtop, “—­that is, if you will allow me to make the suggestion—­couldn’t you give us an hour longer?  Nothing has yet been heard from Miss Minford, who, you said, was expected to be in attendance to-day.  Will you be good enough to send to Mrs. Crull’s house for her?”

“Really, I can’t wait,” replied the coroner.  “The young lady must be sick, or she would have been here before now.”

“But—­pardon me, your Honor—­we are anxious to have Miss Minford brought on the stand this afternoon, believing, that her testimony alone will acquit our client.”

“You believe so, because you do’ ‘no’ what it is.  But, as I said before, it wos on Miss Minford’s statement that Mr. Wilkingson there was ’rested.  And the best advice I can give him is to take a good night’s rest, and get his nerves ready for the young woman’s testimony to-morrow, for it’ll be a staggerer.”  The coroner consulted his watch again, with evident impatience, and rose from his seat.

Overtop essayed to speak again; but the coroner interrupted him with, “The inquest is ’journed till to-morrer, at ten o’clock.  Mr. Policeman, you will take the prisoner back to the station house.”

This speech was torture to Overtop and Maltboy, who, believing firmly in their friend’s innocence, were convinced that a full investigation of the case that day would procure his acquittal.  They turned eyes of exhaustless friendship and sympathy toward him.

Marcus was in that half-comatose state which is the stupid reaction from an intense and painful excitation of the nerves.  He was morbidly calm.  The opinion of the coroner, that Miss Minford’s testimony would be a “staggerer,” had no more effect on him than it would have had on the most phlegmatic reader of the case in next morning’s paper.

“Then, your Honor, we must ask you to take bail,” said Overtop.

“Can’t take bail!  Can’t take anything but my dinner, to-day!  For the third time, I say, the inquest is adjourned.”  The coroner hastily put on his spring overcoat.

Overtop was tempted to make a fierce reply; but the legal discretion in which he was educated restrained him.

The word had gone forth.  The jurors rose, yawned, and grasped their hats.  The reporters jammed their notes into their pockets, and precipitately fled from the room.  The policeman escorted Marcus Wilkeson and his counsel, and Tiffles and Patching, to the carriage which brought them, and which still stood in front of the house, an object of tragic interest to a large crowd of men, women, and children, who had remained about the doorway during the inquest, and could not be dispersed by the policemen.