“Let me be put on my oath.  I have testimony to give of the utmost importance in this case.”

The coroner was astounded; everyone was astounded.  No one had expected anything from him, and instinctively every eye turned towards Amabel to see how she was affected by his action.

Strangely, evidently, for the look with which she settled back in her seat was one which no one who saw it ever forgot, though it conveyed no hint of her real feelings, which were somewhat chaotic.

Frederick, who had forgotten her now that he had made up his mind to speak, waited for the coroner’s reply.

“If you have testimony,” said that gentleman after exchanging a few hurried words with Mr. Courtney and the surprised Knapp, “you can do no better than give it to us at once.  Mr. Frederick Sutherland, will you take the stand?”

With a noble air from which all hesitation had vanished, Frederick started towards the place indicated, but stopped before he had taken a half-dozen steps and glanced back at his father, who was visibly succumbing under this last shock.

“Go!” he whispered, but in so thrilling a tone it was heard to the remotest corner of the room.  “Spare me the anguish of saying what I have to say in your presence.  I could not bear it.  You could not bear it.  Later, if you will wait for me in one of these rooms, I will repeat my tale in your ears, but go now.  It is my last entreaty.”

There was a silence; no one ventured a dissent, no one so much as made a gesture of disapproval.  Then Mr. Sutherland struggled to his feet, cast one last look around him, and disappeared through a door which had opened like magic before him.  Then and not till then did Frederick move forward.

The moment was intense.  The coroner seemed to share the universal excitement, for his first question was a leading one and brought out this startling admission: 

“I have obtruded myself into this inquiry and now ask to be heard by this jury, because no man knows more than I do of the manner and cause of Agatha Webb’s death.  This you will believe when I tell you that I was the person Miss Page followed into Mrs. Webb’s house and whom she heard descend the stairs during the moment she crouched behind the figure of the sleeping Philemon.”

It was more, infinitely more, than anyone there had expected.  It was not only an acknowledgment but a confession, and the shock, the surprise, the alarm, which it occasioned even to those who had never had much confidence in this young man’s virtue, was almost appalling in its intensity.  Had it not been for the consciousness of Mr. Sutherland’s near presence the feeling would have risen to outbreak; and many voices were held in subjection by the remembrance of this venerated man’s last look, that otherwise would have made themselves heard in despite of the restrictions of the place and the authority of the police.