Tom Mortlake’s evidence at the inquest added little beyond this to the public knowledge of his movements on the morning of the Mystery.  The cabman who drove him to Euston had written indignantly to the papers to say that he picked up his celebrated fare at Bow Railway Station at about half-past four A.M., and the arrest was a deliberate insult to democracy, and he offered to make an affidavit to that effect, leaving it dubious to which effect.  But Scotland Yard betrayed no itch for the affidavit in question, and No. 2138 subsided again into the obscurity of his rank.  Mortlake—­whose face was very pale below the black mane brushed back from his fine forehead—­gave his evidence in low, sympathetic tones.  He had known the deceased for over a year, coming constantly across him in their common political and social work, and had found the furnished rooms for him in Glover Street at his own request, they just being to let when Constant resolved to leave his rooms at Oxford House in Bethnal Green, and to share the actual life of the people.  The locality suited the deceased, as being near the People’s Palace.  He respected and admired the deceased, whose genuine goodness had won all hearts.  The deceased was an untiring worker; never grumbled, was always in fair spirits, regarded his life and wealth as a sacred trust to be used for the benefit of humanity.  He had last seen him at a quarter past nine P.M. on the day preceding his death.  He (witness) had received a letter by the last post which made him uneasy about a friend.  He went up to consult deceased about it.  Deceased was evidently suffering from toothache, and was fixing a piece of cotton-wool in a hollow tooth, but he did not complain.  Deceased seemed rather upset by the news he brought, and they both discussed it rather excitedly.

By a JURYMAN:  Did the news concern him?

MORTLAKE:  Only impersonally.  He knew my friend, and was keenly sympathetic when one was in trouble.

CORONER:  Could you show the jury the letter you received?

MORTLAKE:  I have mislaid it, and cannot make out where it has got to.  If you, sir, think it relevant or essential, I will state what the trouble was.

CORONER:  Was the toothache very violent?

MORTLAKE:  I cannot tell.  I think not, though he told me it had disturbed his rest the night before.

CORONER:  What time did you leave him?

MORTLAKE:  About twenty to ten.

CORONER:  And what did you do then?

MORTLAKE:  I went out for an hour or so to make some inquiries.  Then I returned, and told my landlady I should be leaving by an early train for—­for the country.

CORONER:  And that was the last you saw of the deceased?

MORTLAKE (with emotion):  The last.

CORONER:  How was he when you left him?

MORTLAKE:  Mainly concerned about my trouble.

CORONER:  Otherwise you saw nothing unusual about him?