Du Pine swallowed twice before he spoke. “He had had a visitor that morning”, he said hurriedly, “who seemed to—to have disturbed him very much indeed. He left strict instructions that he should not be admitted again.”

There was a stir in the audience at this evidently completely unexpected piece of evidence. Mallett pursed his lips and frowned. But the coroner could not leave the matter there.

“Did he give the name of his visitor?” he asked.

“Yes—he did.” The witness seemed indisposed to say more.

“What was the name?”

“John Fanshawe.” The words were muttered rather than spoken, but in the tense silence they reached every corner of the court. They were greeted with an excited murmur, instantly followed by a stentorian cry of “Silence, silence!” from the coroner’s officer. Under the cover of the noise, Mallett took the opportunity to whisper a few words to the coroner, who nodded in assent, and then returned to the witness.

“I have no more questions to ask you,” he said.

Mr. Du Pine, looking profoundly relieved, took his uneasy presence from the box, and Jackie Roach succeeded him. He stumped forward in high feather at his own importance and grinned cheerfully at the coroner and at the jury. In honour of the occasion he had decorated his shabby coat with three tarnished war medals.

“Are you a newspaper seller?” asked the coroner.

“That’s right, sir.”

“I want you to take your mind back to last Friday evening. Where were you?”

“Corner of Upper Daylesford Street and the Gardens, sir.”

“Carrying on your occupation there?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Selling newspapers?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Did you see anybody pass you while you were there?”

“Quite a number of people, sir.”

“Anybody in particular—anyone you know?”

“I knows most of the people in the Gardens, sir.”

The coroner tried another tack. “Do you know by sight the person who lived at No. 27?” he asked.

“Oh, Mr. James—yes, sir.”

“You knew his name, then?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Crabtree, what was doing for him, told me his name.”

“You mean this Crabtree was his servant?”

“That’s right, sir. He did for him.”

“Did you see Mr. James that evening?”

“Yes, sir. He come past me on the opposite side of the road to where I was standing—him and another gentleman.”

“About what time was that?”

“Round about half-past six, sir, more or less. I couldn’t say for certain.”

“Which way did they go?”

“Down the Gardens, sir, and into No. 27.”

“They both went into the house? You are sure of that?”

“Yes, sir. I noticed that particular, because it was the first time ever I’d seen anyone go into that house since Mr. James come there, except Mr. Crabtree and Mr. James himself.”

“Could you see who was with him?”

“No, sir, I couldn’t. Mr. James was between him and me, and it was a bit darkish their side of the street.”