"Detective-Inspector Cronin," exclaimed Mr Paget, when they had finished, and a tall, well-preserved, black-bearded man entered the witness-box and was sworn.

"I am John Cronin, detective inspector, Criminal Investigation Department," said he, in answer to counsel. "The pocket-book which I produce was handed me on prisoner's arrest, and upon examining it, I found it contained, amongst other things, a bill of the Charing Cross Hotel. I proceeded there, made inquiries, and ascertained that prisoner had been staying there one day, giving his name as Frank Burgoyne. I examined the room he occupied, and found a despatch box in which was the photograph I now produce. Comparing it with that of the woman murdered in Angel Court, taken after death, I find the features exactly coincide."

"Was there any distinguishing mark?" asked his lordship.

"Yes, m'lord," replied the detective handing up both photographs. "Your lordship will notice a small scar over the left eye."

"You made other inquiries, I believe?" asked Mr Paget.

"Yes; on the following day I went to prisoner's house, Elveham Dene, Northamptonshire, and searched the premises. On examining the drawers of a writing-table in the library, which were unlocked, I found two blank pieces of paper on which were seals corresponding in every particular to that found on the lady murdered in Bedford Place."

What did all this mean? I knew nothing of these seals. Surely it must be some plot to take away my life!

The frightful suspicion--could Vera be concerned in it--entered my soul.

The doubt was too awful to be entertained; yet she had not communicated with me since my arrest.

"In the same drawer," continued the detective fumbling among some papers he held in his hand, "I found this telegram. It is dated on the day of the murder in Bloomsbury, and addressed to the deceased. It reads:--`Handed in at Hull and received at the West Central district office. Shall be with you about midnight. Be at home.' It is signed with a single letter `B.' On examining the notepaper on the writing-table, I found it was the same as that upon which the seals were impressed."

"You produce some of that notepaper, I think?" said Mr Paget.

"I do, sir."

The paper was handed to the judge, who held it to the light and compared the watermarks.

When he had satisfied himself the detective resumed:

"Throughout my examination I was in every way r.e.t.a.r.ded by the action of the prisoner's wife. On proceeding to search one of the bedrooms she positively refused to give me the keys of a chest of drawers, and I was therefore compelled to force them. Concealed under some papers, which lined one of the drawers, I discovered a small gold padlock, upon which are engraved the initials `R.S.', and to which was attached the small portion of gold chain I now produce. I had charge of the inquiries in the case of Mrs Inglewood, and remember at the time of her decease she was wearing a diamond bracelet which is also produced. When I examined the house at Bedford Place I discovered the case of the bracelet, which bore the name of the jeweller. The manager of the firm in question will be called to prove that the padlock found in the bedroom of the prisoner is the one belonging to Mrs Inglewood's bracelet, and that it had been sold to her a week before her death."

Some of the dead woman's jewellery in my room! Incredible!

Was it possible that Vera--but, no--again banish the thought!

"In the same drawer," added the detective, with a self-satisfied smile at the intense surprise which his statements excited, "was this letter, in a lady's handwriting, signed `Ethel Inglewood': `Come and dine to-morrow evening. I have the money ready, and rely on you to keep my secret.' The address embossed on the paper is `67, Bedford Place,' and the date is that of the day previous to the murder."

"Do you prove anything else?" inquired Mr Paget, expectantly.

"No," replied the inspector, "except that from inquiries I made I find that very shortly after the inquest on Mrs Inglewood the prisoner left the country suddenly, and the next murder--the one in Angel Court--was perpetrated on the day of his return."

As Mr Paget resumed his seat, my counsel, Mr Roland, rose. Turning to the witness with a suave countenance, he mildly asked:

"How do you fix the day of the prisoner's return?"

"By the books of the club to which the accused belonged--the Junior Garrick."

"You say you found the seals in the library. Could access be easily gained to that room?"

"No; prisoner's wife had the key."

"And she refused you the keys of the chest of drawers?"

"Yes, giving as her reason that it contained papers of a strictly private nature."

"Did she express surprise when you found the seals?"

"When I showed them to her she fainted."

"You said, just now, that the little padlock was `concealed.' Are you sure it had not accidentally fallen behind the paper?"

"No; I should think not."

"Did you suspect the prisoner previous to his arrest?"

"I did. After the inquest on Mrs Inglewood, observation was kept upon him for some time, but he eluded us by going abroad."

"And now you endeavour to fix the crime upon him without any direct evidence. I have nothing more to ask you."

My hopes sank as Mr Roland resumed his seat, with a poor affectation of indifference.

The next witness was a neatly-attired, gentlemanly-looking man, the jeweller's manager, who proved the purchase of the bracelet by Mrs Inglewood, and identified the tiny padlock as a portion of it.

When he had retired, Mr Roland having asked him no questions, he was succeeded by Bob Nugent, who stepped into the witness-box averting my gaze. Was even Bob in the conspiracy!

"You were, I think, Mr Nugent," said the prosecuting counsel, "a friend--a particular friend I may say--of the prisoner's?"

"I was--formerly."

"Now, tell me, do you remember the night of the 15th August?"

"I do. The prisoner and I left the Junior Garrick Club soon after midnight, to proceed home."

"Was there anything in his manner which attracted your attention?"

"He seemed rather excited, having lost heavily at cards. I left him at Danes' Inn."

"Do you know on what day he returned from abroad?"

"It was in the beginning of March. He was then strangely reticent as to his actions in the meantime."

"You will remember, as a journalist, possibly, on what night the murder in Angel Court occurred?"

"On the same night as the prisoner's return."

"Do you know anything of the photograph found upon the accused?"

"Yes; he produced it accidentally, while dining at the Junior Garrick Club, and appeared much confused and annoyed, endeavouring at once to conceal it."

"Did you see it again?"