one important piece of evidence bearing on the murder of mr. hazeldine, and one only, had been ferreted out by the police in the course of the week which preceded the adjourned inquest. they had discovered the man who sold the weapon with which the crime had presumably been perpetrated. the point that still remained to be cleared up was the identification of the purchaser of the knife.

as before, the jury assembled in a room of the "white lion hotel."

for the sake of appearances, edward hazeldine had been obliged to retain the services of mr. prestwich, who was supposed to be there with the view of looking after the interests of the family of the deceased. mr. avison occupied a seat in the reserved space, and all the witnesses who had been called and sworn on the previous occasion were again in attendance.

the depositions having been read over, dr. barton was called, and deposed that, in conjunction with his colleague, dr. stone, he had made a post-mortem examination of the body of deceased, and that they found the cause of death to be puncture of the tissues of the heart with the point of some sharp instrument.

the weapon produced exactly fitted the cavity of the wound, and bearing in mind the fact that it was found close by the body, there was little room for doubt that it was the instrument with which the fatal blow had been inflicted.

the evidence of dr. stone was to the same effect as that of the previous witness.

patience strong, wife of william strong, deposed that, to the best of her belief, her husband never left home on the night of the supposed murder. he had been ill for two or three days previously, and on the evening in question she left him about nine o'clock, sitting in his slippers by the fire, when she went out to see a neighbor who had a sick child, and she found him still sitting in his slippers by the fire when she got home at five minutes before twelve.

after speaking in a low voice to chief constable mace for a few moments, the coroner called upon walter brill to come forward. in response to the summons a dark, quick-eyed, nervous little man, evidently dressed in his sunday best, pressed his way through the crowd, and was sworn in the usual way. he deposed that he resided at no. 29 winton street, london, and that a few days ago he received, through the police, the photograph of a knife, produced, with a printed request that if he remembered having sold such a weapon he would at once communicate with the authorities. as he at once recognized the photograph's being very like that of a knife sold by him about two months before, he did as he was requested, and was waited upon by mr. mace and another gentleman, with the result that he was before the coroner to-day to give evidence.

the knife now put into his hands was sold by him on a certain day in august last. he knew it by a private mark, which he put on all goods out of the common way sold by him. had no means of telling the exact date when he sold the knife, but knew it was in august, because his little girl, who had just recovered from the measles, was running about the shop at the time. the knife was called an "american knife," but was in reality of sheffield manufacture. it was made of the best steel, had one blade six inches in length, and opened with a spring. the purchaser of it was a gentleman about fifty years old, who carried a small black leather bag, of which he seemed to take especial care.

being pressed to describe more particularly the appearance of the gentleman, witness said that, to the best of his recollection, he wore a black tail-coat and waistcoat, and a high, old-fashioned collar. he had no beard and not much whisker, and was very "respectable-looking." being asked to look round the room, and see whether anyone among those present bore any resemblance to the person who bought the knife, witness rubbed his hands nervously together, and then turned and fronted the sixty or seventy faces grouped at the other end of the room.

by the time witness had reached this point the eyes of every spectator and juryman had shifted from his face to the face of john brancker. mr. avison and john were sitting on one side of the room between the crowd of ordinary onlookers and the coroner, and facing the jury.

as walter brill went on to describe the appearance of the man who bought the knife, john felt his color change in spite of himself. he was a shy, nervous man at the best of times, and totally unfitted to go through such an ordeal as the present one. he could feel, rather than see, that the eyes of all present were bent upon him. he turned first red and then white, and his lower lip began to quiver, as it had a trick of doing in moments of excitement or agitation. mr. mace favored his colleague from scotland yard with a nod that was perceptible to him alone. almost unconsciously mr. avison moved his chair a few inches further away. john noticed the action, and his heart swelled within him.

the cause of all this was the strangely accurate description given by brill of the man who had purchased the knife. john brancker was verging towards middle-age. he went to london three or four times a month, on which occasions he took with him a small black leather bag. a black tail-coat and a high stiff collar formed part of his customary attire. he was clean-shaven, except for two short side-whiskers which began to show signs of grey; while no one could dispute the fact that he was a very staid and respectable-looking man.

the eyes of brill roved with a sort of vague inquisitiveness from face to face, but no light of recognition came into them. he shook his head slowly and turned to the coroner.

"take your time; don't be in too great a hurry," said the latter; so brill turned to look again.

it needs but that two or three people should stare intently at some one object for the eyes of all there to be drawn in the same direction. so it was in the present case. brill awoke to the fact that the spectators were not looking so much at him as at someone behind him. he turned, letting his eyes follow the direction of theirs, and confronted john brancker.

the two men looked at each other. for the first few moments it seemed to brill that he was gazing into the face of a man whom he had never seen before, but as his eyes took in one by one the different items of john's attire, and then wandered back to his smooth-shaven chin and pointed collars, and when he became conscious that everyone in the room was waiting with a sort of breathless anxiety to see whether he would recognize the man before him, then he began to fancy that the face he was looking at was not altogether strange to him, and that he must have seen it before. in such a case fancy goes a long way on the road to certainty. but brill felt the responsibility of his position, and was nervously anxious not to make a mistake.

"well," said the coroner, after a pause, during which, as the saying goes, a pin might have been heard to drop, "are you satisfied that the person to whom you sold the knife is nowhere among those present?"

brill drew a long breath, glanced furtively round the room again, and then said in a low voice:

"there is one gentleman here that seems something like the party who called at my shop in august."

"be good enough to point out the person to whom you refer."

"that is the gentleman," said the witness, turning and indicating john brancker with his finger. a low murmur, like an inarticulate sigh, ran through the room, and then the silence became more intense than before.

"are you prepared to swear that is the gentlemen to whom you sold the knife you have seen here to-day?"

"no, i am not prepared to swear to anything of the kind."

"to the best of your belief is he the person to whom you sold the knife?"

"no, i won't go even as far as that," answered brill, dogmatically. "all i can say is that there is a strong likeness between him and the party who came to my shop; but, for all that, i'm not going to swear that it was him." nor from that point could anything move him.

john brancker rose to his feet.

"don't say anything now," whispered mr. avison.

"i must, sir--i must," answered john, with a passionate ring in his voice. then turning to the coroner, he said:

"sir, as i stand here, a living man, i swear that i never saw or spoke to this person before to-day, that i was never inside his shop in my life, and that i never purchased a knife like the one in question either of him or of anyone else." having said these few words, john resumed his seat.

"have you any questions to ask the last witness?" asked the coroner of mr. prestwich. he had listened with polite attention to john, but had made no comment.

mr. prestwich shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. only two minutes before he had whispered to edward hazeldine, who was seated in the next chair, "the evidence this week seems tending in the same direction as that of last week."

"i don't care for that--john brancker is an innocent man," was the emphatic reply.

"in any case," said mr. prestwich, "i should like to put a few questions to the man brill."

"i beg you will do nothing of the kind, at least not now," was all he got in answer.

after that mr. prestwich could say no more. to him edward hazeldine's pig-headedness, as he termed it in his own mind, was altogether inexplicable.

but more inexplicable was it to edward that in the description given by brill of the man who had bought the knife no one should have recognized the portrait of mr. hazeldine. he had recognized it in a moment, but all the others, having had their minds imbued with the idea that the description must of necessity apply to john brancker, had failed to discover the other likeness--all except ephraim judd. brill's account had given him a clue to something which had hitherto puzzled him not a little. "now, i can guess it all," he muttered under his breath. "i wonder whether anyone suspects besides myself." henceforward for him the tragedy had a double meaning.

both mr. hazeldine and john brancker belonged to the staid, old-fashioned school of bank officials. they were sober in their ways and sober in their attire. there was no great dissimilarity in their ages, and in the course of years john, without being consciously aware of it, had got into the way of copying his superior officer both in manner and dress: so that, under the circumstances, the mistake made not only by brill, but by those who knew both the men, was hardly to be wondered at, however unfortunate it might prove to be for one of them.

there being no further evidence forthcoming, the coroner proceeded to sum up the case. it was not his fault that nearly all the evidence seemed to point to one conclusion. he stated the facts as he found them, and strove in no way to bias the minds of the jury.

the jury retired at twenty minutes past five and were away forty minutes. much eager whispered conversation went on during their absence, but no one attempted to leave the room. everyone felt the intensity of the strain. john brancker sat perfectly still, staring into vacancy, with his hands crossed over the knob of his umbrella. edward hazeldine sat like a man in a stupor, heedless of all that was going on around him. mr. prestwich took snuff and conversed with the coroner in undertones. there was a momentary rustle, and then a dead silence fell upon the room as the jury filed back to their seats, and returned a verdict of wilful murder against john brancker.

a ghastly pallor overspread john's face as the words fell upon his ears. they surely could not be meant to apply to him! his lips formed themselves to speak, but no sound came from them. oh! to think--to think that anyone could for a moment believe his was the hand which had struck so foul a blow! then he bowed his head and waited, while two or three scalding tears dropped unseen on his crossed hands.

edward hazeldine strode across the room and grasped john by the hand. "mr. brancker," he said, "i am profoundly grieved at what has happened here to-day. from the bottom of my heart i believe you to be an innocent man. this verdict seems to me a most monstrous one--one which will never be sustained by that higher tribunal to which your case will now be relegated. believe me, i would stake my life on your innocence."

john grasped the hand that lay in his. his momentary burst of emotion had relieved his overcharged feelings. his courage was coming back to him. "thank you, sincerely, mr. edward, for your kind words," he said as he stood up. "they have taken a great weight off my heart. the world can hardly believe me guilty when it knows that you have faith in my innocence."

at this moment clement hazeldine came pushing his way through the crowd. he had been unable to get there before. he was inexpressibly shocked at the news which had just been told him. he, too, grasped john by the hand, and assured him in warm terms of his thorough confidence in his innocence.

"now i can face whatever has yet to come," said john, with the ghost of a smile on his quivering lips. "but who is to break the news to my sister, and--and to hermia?"

"i will do that, if you will allow me," answered clement, gently.

"do--do. poor lotty! poor hermy!" he turned away; it was all he could do to keep from breaking down again.

other friends crowded round him with sympathetic looks and cheering words. mr. avison had slipped quietly away without speaking to anyone.

the committal warrant, duly signed by the coroner, was ready by this time. the chief constable touched his prisoner on the shoulder, and john followed him to the fly which was waiting to convey him to the gaol, a mile or more away, at the other end of the town. a last hearty hand-shake with several friends, and then the two men got inside, and were driven off. one by one the crowd congregated round the door of the "white lion" melted away.

next forenoon john was brought up before the loca bench of magistrates, when the whole dreary business of the evidence against him was minutely sifted and gone through afresh, and after a couple of adjournments, john was committed to take his trial on the capital charge at the forthcoming winter assizes, held at dulminster, the county town eight miles from ashdown.