“I have no other questions to ask, Mr. Jelliman,” said the coroner, with great politeness.

The coroner was baffled.  He had staked the whole case upon the theory of Marcus Wilkeson’s guilt, and had made no attempt to procure other testimony than what would prove that supposition.  He scratched his head and rolled his quid in a perfect quandary.

Another noise was heard on the stairs, as of several persons hurriedly ascending.

Then the door opened, and an excited group made its appearance.  In advance was a slender young man, whose face was pale with debauchery.  His clothes were rich, and had an unpleasantly new look.  As he stepped over the threshold, he glanced coolly about the room, and, his eyes resting on the coroner, smiled.

“Ah, Myndert, my boy,” said the coroner, “what are you here for?”

CHAPTER IX.

AN OLD MAN’S OFFERING.

“Hang me if I know, Harry!  It’s the old man’s work.  He’ll explain it to you.”

Behind this easy young man came a strong policeman, who, immediately upon his entrance, received a nod of approbation from the lieutenant.  Behind the policeman walked, with bended white head and tottering limbs, the venerable Mr. Van Quintem.  The old gentleman was partly supported, in his infirmity, by the boy Bog.  It was a touching sight to see the confiding trust with which the weakness of sixty-eight clung to the strong arm of nineteen.  Bog hung down his head modestly, and blushed.  He was not seen even to look at the little veiled figure which sat in the middle of the room.  But young Myndert Van Quintem looked at it, and bowed with the deepest respect.  The bow was answered by a faint nod and a delicate blush.  Mrs. Crull observed the interchange of recognitions, and frowned to herself.

“Mr. Coroner,” said the old gentleman, straightening himself, and coming forward with a quick step, as one who was about to perform an unpleasant task, and would hurry through it, “this young man is my son.  God knows what love I have lavished upon him from the day that he was born, and with what ingratitude he has repaid me.  But—­but that is neither here nor there.  I have come here to deliver him up to you as a prisoner—­”

“As a prisoner!” echoed the coroner; and he and all looked amazed at this strange announcement.

“Why should it surprise you?  It is a simple act of justice.  I have reason to think that my son knows something about this murder” (here the old gentleman’s voice faltered); “and my duty, as a good citizen and an honest man, requires me to surrender him.  There are other affairs of a private nature between myself and my son—­he knows to what I refer —­which I am not prepared to make public at the present time.”  The old gentleman looked significantly at his son, who smiled calmly at him in return.

A chair was brought for Mr. Van Quintem, sen., and he sank into it.  The young man seated himself in another chair which was handed to him by the attentive coroner himself.