As the crowd swayed to and fro it was in marked contrast to the usual way in which they were wont to assemble within the great walls of Haddon.  No loud laugh or sound of boisterous merriment broke the stillness of this solemn eventide; no tricks were attempted now upon unconscious friends, and even the almost invariable little groups of admirers listening to the marvellously strange tales of those who had crossed the seas were not to be found.  All was silent save the screeching of the owls every now and again, and the subdued hum of conversation which rose up from the awestruck assembly as they patiently awaited the test which was to bring home the guilt of the murderer.

They had a long time to wait, and the moon had long been out before the proceedings were properly commenced.

A loud blast from the trumpets of the sentries gave the first intimation of the approach of the head of the house of Vernon.  The great gates swung open and Sir George slowly advanced through the throng, which respectfully fell back on either side and made an open passage for him.  A few yards behind followed a bare-headed priest, chanting prayers for the departed, and heading a diminutive procession, in the midst of which the body of the unfortunate pedlar was carried on a bier.  They stopped at the foot of the steps which stretch across the courtyard; the doleful chant ceased, and an impressive hush fell upon the assembly, as with bated breath they awaited the next scene in the awful drama.

Sir George did not hurry himself, for it was necessary to the success of the ordeal that the culprit, whoever that was, should be duly impressed with a sense befitting the character of the moment, and a little suspense, he shrewdly guessed, would tend to make the guilty one tremble and offer signs which would make detection the easier.

At last he spoke.

“Mary Durden, Joel Cobbe, Henry Bridge, and Nathan Grene, step out,” he said, “take the oath; touch the body in our presence, and prove your innocence if you are able.”

Every whisper was smothered into silence as they watched to see the individuals named perform the test.  No one stirred, however, and the order had to be repeated.

“Mary Burden, Joel Cobbe, Henry Bridge, and Nathan Grene,” thundered the baron, “I command you to answer to your names, or by your silence shall you be condemned.”

Joel Cobbe and Henry Bridge, two of the most disreputable men in the whole district, went forward in company, and succeeded in touching the body without a rupture of blood taking place or the body moving its position one iota.

“Mary Durden, spinster, Nathan Grene, locksmith,” repeated Sir George, “answer to this third, last challenge, or thy last hope of escape is gone.”

Nathan Grene, fuming with ill-concealed rage, stepped out, and a loud shriek announced the presence of Mary Durden, who was unwillingly pushed into view by those around her.  As soon as she had gained the little open space that was yet left she fell upon the ground and swooned away.