Asked if he could give the time of this encounter, he replied that it was not far from midnight, as he was in his own house by half-past twelve.

“Did you glance up at these windows in passing?” asked Mr. Fenton.

“I must have; for I now remember they were both lighted.”

“Were the shades up?”

“I think not.  I would have noticed it if they had been.”

“How were the shades when you broke into the house this morning?” inquired Mr. Sutherland of the constable.

“Just as they are now; we have moved nothing.  The shades were both down—­one of them over an open window.”

“Well, we may find this encounter of yours with this unknown man a matter of vital importance, Mr. Crane.”

“I wish I had seen his face.”

“What do you think the object was you saw glittering in his hand?”

“I should not like to say; I saw it but an instant.”

“Could it have been a knife or an old-fashioned dagger?”

“It might have been.”

“Alas! poor Agatha!  That she, who so despised money, should fall a victim to man’s cupidity!  Unhappy life, unhappy death!  Fenton, I shall always mourn for Agatha Webb.”

“Yet she seems to have found peace at last,” observed the minister.  “I have never seen her look so contented.”  And leading Mr. Sutherland aside, he whispered:  “What is this you say about money?  Had she, in spite of appearances, any considerable amount?  I ask, because in spite of her humble home and simple manner of living, she always put more on the plate than any of her neighbours.  Besides which, I have from time to time during my pastorate received anonymously certain contributions, which, as they were always for sick or suffering children—­”

“Yes, yes; they came from her, I have no doubt of it.  She was by no means poor, though I myself never knew the extent of her means till lately.  Philemon was a good business man once; but they evidently preferred to live simply, having no children living—­”

“They have lost six, I have been told.”

“So the Portchester folks say.  They probably had no heart for display or for even the simplest luxuries.  At all events, they did not indulge in them.”

“Philemon has long been past indulging in anything.”

“Oh, he likes his comfort, and he has had it too.  Agatha never stinted him.”

“But why do you think her death was due to her having money?”

“She had a large sum in the house, and there are those in town who knew this.”

“And is it gone?”

“That we shall know later.”

As the coroner arrived at this moment, the minister’s curiosity had to wait.  Fortunately for his equanimity, no one had the presumption to ask him to leave the room.

The coroner was a man of but few words, and but little given to emotion.  Yet they were surprised at his first question: