The coroner’s officer, with an apologetic air, approached the coroner, and handed him up an envelope.  And again in an instant, there fell absolute silence on the court.

Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope.  He glanced down the sheet of notepaper it contained.  Then he looked up.

“Mr.—­” then he glanced down again.  “Mr.—­ah—­Mr.—­is it Cannot?” he said doubtfully, “may come forward.”

There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.

A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat, with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from the place where he had been standing among the general public, to the witness-box.

“This is somewhat out of order, Mr.—­er—­Cannot,” said the coroner severely.  “You should have sent me this note before the proceedings began.  This gentleman,” he said, addressing the jury, “informs me that he has something of the utmost importance to reveal in connection with our investigation.”

“I have remained silent—­I have locked what I knew within my own breast”—­began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, “because I am so afraid of the Press!  I knew if I said anything, even to the police, that my house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . .  I have a delicate wife, Mr. Coroner.  Such a state of things—­the state of things I imagine—­might cause her death—­indeed, I hope she will never read a report of these proceedings.  Fortunately, she has an excellent trained nurse—­”

“You will now take the oath,” said the coroner sharply.  He already regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.

Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been lacking in most of those who had preceded him.

“I will address myself to the jury,” he began.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” broke in the coroner.  “Now, please attend to me.  You assert in your letter that you know who is the—­the—­”

“The Avenger,” put in Mr. Cannot promptly.

“The perpetrator of these crimes.  You further declare that you met him on the very night he committed the murder we are now investigating?”

“I do so declare,” said Mr. Cannot confidently.  “Though in the best of health myself,”—­he beamed round the court, a now amused, attentive court—­“it is my fate to be surrounded by sick people, to have only ailing friends.  I have to trouble you with my private affairs, Mr. Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be out at so undue an hour as one o’clock in the morning—­”

Again a titter ran through the court.  Even the jury broke into broad smiles.

“Yes,” went on the witness solemnly, “I was with a sick friend—­in fact, I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed away.  I will not reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on my notepaper.  It is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understand me when I say that in order to come home I had to pass through a portion of the Regent’s Park; and it was there—­to be exact, about the middle of Prince’s Terrace—­when a very peculiar-looking individual stopped and accosted me.”