Mrs. Bunting’s hand shot up to her breast.  A feeling of deadly fear took possession of her.

“I mustn’t faint,” she said to herself hurriedly.  “I mustn’t faint!  Whatever’s the matter with me?” She took out her bottle of smelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.

“He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with a very odd-looking face.  I should say an educated man—­in common parlance, a gentleman.  What drew my special attention to him was that he was talking aloud to himself—­in fact, he seemed to be repeating poetry.  I give you my word, I had no thought of The Avenger, no thought at all.  To tell you the truth, I thought this gentleman was a poor escaped lunatic, a man who’d got away from his keeper.  The Regent’s Park, sir, as I need hardly tell you, is a most quiet and soothing neighbourhood—­”

And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.

“I appeal to you; sir,” the old gentleman suddenly cried out “to protect me from this unseemly levity!  I have not come here with any other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!”

“I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant,” said the coroner stiffly.  “Time is going on, and I have another important witness to call—­a medical witness.  Kindly tell me, as shortly as possible, what made you suppose that this stranger could possibly be—­” with an effort he brought out for the first time since the proceedings began, the words, “The Avenger?”

“I am coming to that!” said Mr. Cannot hastily.  “I am coming to that!  Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner.  It was a foggy night, but not as foggy as it became later.  And just when we were passing one another, I and this man, who was talking aloud to himself—­he, instead of going on, stopped and turned towards me.  That made me feel queer and uncomfortable, the more so that there was a very wild, mad look on his face.  I said to him, as soothingly as possible, ‘A very foggy night, sir.’  And he said, ’Yes—­yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the commission of dark and salutary deeds.’  A very strange phrase, sir, that—­’dark and salutary deeds.’” He looked at the coroner expectantly—­

“Well?  Well, Mr. Cannot?  Was that all?  Did you see this person go off in the direction of—­of King’s Cross, for instance?”

“No.”  Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head.  “No, I must honestly say I did not.  He walked along a certain way by my side, and then he crossed the road and was lost in the fog.”

“That will do,” said the coroner.  He spoke more kindly.  “I thank you, Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidently consider important information.”

Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again some of those present tittered rather foolishly.

As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and looked up at the coroner, opening his lips as he did so.  There was a murmur of talking going on, but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heard quite distinctly what it was that he said: