The Coroner turned, somewhat dubiously, to the two doctors who had performed the autopsy.  But before he could speak, the superintendent of police rose and began to whisper to him, and after a conversation between them, he looked round at the jury, every member of which had evidently been much struck by Ransford’s suggestion.

“At this stage,” he said, “it will be necessary to adjourn.  I shall adjourn the inquiry for a week, gentlemen.  You will—­” Ransford, still standing in the witness-box, suddenly lost control of himself.  He uttered a sharp exclamation and smote the ledge before him smartly with his open hand.

“I protest against that!” he said vehemently.  “Emphatically, I protest!  You first of all make a suggestion which tells against me—­then, when I demand that a question shall be put which is of immense importance to my interests, you close down the inquiry—­even if only for the moment.  That is grossly unfair and unjust!”

“You are mistaken,” said the Coroner.  “At the adjourned inquiry, the two medical men can be recalled, and you will have the opportunity—­or your solicitor will have—­of asking any questions you like for the present—­”

“For the present you have me under suspicion!” interrupted Ransford hotly.  “You know it—­I say this with due respect to your office—­as well as I do.  Suspicion is rife in the city against me.  Rumour is being spread—­secretly—­and, I am certain—­from the police, who ought to know better.  And—­I will not be silenced, Mr. Coroner!—­I take this public opportunity, as I am on oath, of saying that I know nothing whatever of the causes of the deaths of either Collishaw or of Braden—­upon my solemn oath!”

“The inquest is adjourned to this day week,” said the Coroner quietly.

Ransford suddenly stepped down from the witness-box and without word or glance at any one there, walked with set face and determined look out of the court, and the excited spectators, gathering into groups, immediately began to discuss his vigorous outburst and to take sides for and against him.

Bryce, judging it advisable to keep away from Mitchington just then, and, for similar reasons, keeping away from Harker also, went out of the crowded building alone—­to be joined in the street outside by Sackville Bonham, whom he had noticed in court, in company with his stepfather, Mr. Folliot.

Folliot, Bryce had observed, had stopped behind, exchanging some conversation with the Coroner.  Sackville came up to Bryce with a knowing shake of the hand.  He was one of those very young men who have a habit of suggesting that their fund of knowledge is extensive and peculiar, and Bryce waited for a manifestation.

“Queer business, all that, Bryce!” observed Sackville confidentially.  “Of course, Ransford is a perfect ass!”

“Think so?” remarked Bryce, with an inflection which suggested that Sackville’s opinion on anything was as valuable as the Attorney-General’s.  “That’s how it strikes you, is it?”