“Gentlemen,” he said, “in all this evidence that has been placed before us I find not one loophole of escape for the prisoner, not one opening by which there might be a chance of passing any other verdict than that which I am compelled to pass now; save only in the evidence of Borkins, who tells that the dead man groaned and moaned for a minute or two after being shot.  This, I must say, leaves me in some doubt as to the absolute accuracy of his story, but the main facts tally with what evidence we have and point in one direction.  There is only one revolver in question, and that revolver of a peculiar make and bore.  I have shown you the instrument here, also the bullet which was extracted from the dead man’s brain.  Is there no other person who would wish to give evidence, before I am compelled to pronounce the prisoner ’Guilty’—­and leave him to the hands of higher Courts of Justice?  If there is, I beg of you to speak, and speak at once.  Time is short, gentlemen.”

His voice ceased, and for a moment over the room there was silence.  You could have heard a pin drop.  Then came the scraping of a chair, a swiftly-muttered, “I will!  I will!  I have something to say!” in a woman’s voice shrill with emotion, and ’Toinette Brellier stood up, slim and tall in her black frock, and with the veil thrown back from her pale face.  She held something in her hand, something which she waved aloft for all to see.

“I ...  I have something to say, Mr. Coroner,” she said in a clear, high voice.  “Something to show you, also.  See!” She pushed her way through the crowd that opened to admit her, gaping at her as she came rapidly to the coroner’s table and held out the object.  It was a small-sized revolver, identical in every detail to that which lay upon the coroner’s table.  “That,” she said clearly, her voice rising higher and higher, as she looked into Merriton’s face for a single instant and smiled wanly, “that, Mr. Coroner, is a revolver identical with the one which you have there.  It is the same make, the same bore—­everything!”

“So it is!” For a moment the coroner lost his calm.  He lifted an excited face to meet her eyes, “Where did you get it, Miss Brellier?”

“From the top drawer of the secretaire in the little boudoir at Withersby Hall,” she said calmly, “where it has always lain.  You will find a shot missing.  Everything the same, Mr. Coroner; everything the same!”

“It belongs to some member of your household, Miss Brellier?”

She took a step backward and drew a sharp breath.  Then her eyes were fixed upon Merriton’s face.

“It belongs to—­me,” she said.

CHAPTER XXI

QUESTIONS—­AND ANSWERS

A murmur of amazement went round the room, like the sound of rising wind.  The coroner held up his hand for silence.

“You say it is yours, Miss Brellier?  This—­this is really most remarkable—­most remarkable!  The revolver is of French make, is it not?  You bought it abroad?”