have no direct bearing on the death.  But he was informed by a mere clerk, who had knowledge of the Coroner’s ways, that if he did not attend the inquest would probably be adjourned for his attendance.  The fact was, the Coroner had appreciated as well as anybody that heaven and the war had sent him a cause celebre of the first-class.  He saw himself the supreme being of a unique assize.  He saw his remarks reproduced verbatim in the papers, for, though localities might not be mentioned, there was no censor’s ban upon the obiter dicta of coroners.  His idiosyncrasy was that he hid all his enjoyment in his own breast.  Even had he had the use of a bench, instead of a mere chair, he would never have allowed titled ladies in mirific black hats to share it with him.  He was an icy radical, sincere, competent, conscientious and vain.  He would be no respecter of persons, but he was a disrespecter of persons above a certain social rank.  He said, “Open that window.”  And that window was opened, regardless of the identity of the person who might be sitting under it.  He said:  “This court is unhealthily full.  Admit no more.”  And no more could be admitted, though the entire peerage waited without.

The Marquis had considered that the inquest on his daughter might be taken first.  The other three cases were taken first, and, even taken concurrently, they occupied an immense period of time.  All the bodies were, of course, “viewed” together, and the absence of the jury seemed to the Marquis interminable; he thought the despicable tradesmen were gloating unduly over the damaged face of his daughter.  The Coroner had been marvellously courteous to the procession of humble witnesses.  He could not have been more courteous to the exalted; and he was not.  In the sight of the Coroner all men were equal.

G.J. encountered him first.  “I did my best to persuade her ladyship to come down,” said G.J. very formally.  “I am quite sure you did,” said the Coroner with the dryest politeness.  “And you failed.”  The policeman had related events from the moment when G.J. had fetched him in from the street.  The policeman could remember everything, what everybody had said, the positions of all objects, the characteristics and extent of the wire-netting, the exact posture of the deceased girl, the exact minute of his visit.  He and the Coroner played to each other like well-rehearsed actors.  Mrs. Carlos Smith’s ordeal was very brief, and the Coroner dismissed her with an expression of sympathy that seemed to issue from his mouth like carved granite.  With the doctor alone the Coroner had become human; the Coroner also was a doctor.  The doctor had talked about a relatively slight extravasation of blood, and said that death had been instantaneous.  Said the Coroner:  “The body was found on the wire-netting; it had fallen from the chimney.  In your opinion, was the fall a contributory cause of death?” The doctor said, No.  “In your opinion death was due to an extremely small piece of shrapnel which struck the deceased’s head slightly above the left ear, entering the brain?” The doctor said, Yes.